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Member
Join Date: Sep 2007
Location: Greenville, SC
Gender: Female
Posts: 22
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Homeless- edited yet more
Homeless
“Don’t you just love the prices at this store?” The lady asking the question was probably in her sixties, well dressed, complete with all the appropriate accessories.
"Nothing like a good bargain," I replied quietly.
Conspiratorially, she moved closer, "My husband and I love these frozen shrimp for lunch, you just put them in the toaster oven for a few minutes and they are wonderful!"
"I'll have to give them a try, they really do sound good." I smiled. "Where did you find them?"
Following her directions, I moved to the frozen food area, but I do not place shrimp in my cart. I do not have a toaster oven.
I look like a typical middle-aged southern Christian lady you would see anywhere in South Carolina grocery stores. My Skirt reaches mid-calf, my blouse doesn't dip too low, I don't wear much make-up on my too white face and my hair bounces neatly around my head. Although I look typical, there is a big difference between myself and most of the ladies wearing similar attire- I am homeless.
If you would have told me fifteen years ago that I would be where I am today, I would have thought you had a real problem. My husband and I were studying to become missionaries, our children were doing well in school, we weren't perfect, but we were basically happy.
Then the troubles started. Although they were typical, they escalated beyond my wildest fears. Teenagers going through rough times, mid-life crisis, divorce and other issues invaded like an army. Their roughshod boots tromped over my heart. I was alone.
Years as a homemaker logically pointed to becoming a cook at local restaurants. Educational opportunities presented themselves and I went back to school as a “displaced homemaker.” I became a secretary, office manager, then went back to college for more education. Other opportunities knocked: a friend taught me professional photography and graphic design. I decided to start fresh in the mountains of Tennessee.
“Hi, I am here to put in an application as a graphic designer.” I smiled nervously, looking around the disheveled office of a small newspaper.
After receiving the completed application, the hefty receptionist picked up the phone and spoke a few words. A moment later a short, stocky man with dark hair appeared, and thrust out his hand in greeting.
“Hi, I’m John Blake, and you are?”
“Sara Murdoch.”
Although the man was short, there was a confident, powerful air that bespoke his authority. A charismatic grin made him approachable. He motioned toward an open door.
Inside was a large conference table, strewn with books, pencils and small pads of legal paper. A laptop sat open at the far end. Blake sat down on the plush leather directly in front of it.
Lifting his eyes from the application in his hand, Blake looked me in the eye.
“So you are a graphic designer. I don’t need a graphic designer. Can you write?”
The question caught me off guard, but I found myself responding to this likable man.
“Well, I did well in college English, and I am an avid reader.”
“Are you interested in city and county government meetings?” His eyes probed for answers.
“My family has been involved in local politics for generations- I cut my teeth on politics,” I replied, scarcely breathing at the turn the conversation had taken.
Blake rapidly fired a succession of terse questions, then did something that totally caught me off guard.
Turning his laptop in my direction, he said, “You have just been to a local county council meeting, write it up. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” And with that left the room.
Alone in the conference room I felt quite surreal and almost giddy. Me write?
Fortunately, my imagination kicked in. The county of Tennessee we were in was partially dry, meaning you could only buy beer and wine in certain designated areas, but tourism was a main industry. Financial pressure often causes people to forsake their principles for the sake of more business. That would be my topic. My fingers flew as the story took shape.
Ten minutes later, Blake returned. “Lets see how you did.”
As he gazed at the laptop a look of surprise appeared on his face. “Have you done this before?”
“No.”
Again his gaze searched my face. “Thanks for coming in. I will think about this and give you a call.”
In my heart, I knew I had the job, but two weeks later he still had not called. I prayed for guidance, and decided to go back.
Blake was standing in the lobby of the newspaper office when I walked in the door. Beside him was a tall, lean man with inquisitive eyes, whom he introduced as Edward, his associate editor.
“I tried to call you, can you start right now?” he grinned.
“Sure!” came my breathless reply.
Two minutes later I was in a car with Edward headed for an automobile accident. I pinched myself to see if I was dreaming and said thank you to the Lord.
Thus began a three year stint as a newspaper reporter. Although the job perks were really fun, and I got to meet a variety of celebrities as well as the Governor of Tennessee, I was still basically alone with no family in the area. I missed my kids, and now grandkids. When my oldest son asked me to come home to Greenville, I was ready.
“I’ve had years of experience in the office and with the newspaper,” I thought. “Finding a job probably won’t be that hard.”
A month later I was still looking. I applied to more than thirty newspaper in a 50 mile radius, employment agencies and graphic design shops. Nothing seemed to be happening. I decided to accept it as a spiritual test, since I believe in a sovereign God who is able to do more than I could ask or think. I will hold up my head and keep trying.
Any mother who loves her children knows they need their space. There is only so long you can live with your family without tensions creeping in. So, I started sleeping in my car part time.
My personal goal as a homeless person was not to look or act like one. Family members allow me to use their washing machines and showers. I have also perfected the ten minute wash-up in public restrooms, when necessary.
Thankful for an easy to style haircut, I carry a small tote filled with conditioning shampoo, a washcloth, towel and a variety of personal maintenance cosmetics. In a brusque and businesslike manner, I enter a public restroom. It is important to scope out single restrooms, in which the door locks, for a bit of privacy. It is very awkward if someone walks in during your daily ablutions.
"Hurry, hurry!" I tell myself as I methodically wash from top to bottom. If I am lucky, the sink has warm water, although often it just runs cold. Frequently, I place a watch on a dirty sink to measure the time. It is important not to stay in the restroom too long.
Eating is another challenge. Out of compassion for my children, I applied for food stamps. It was painful to keep asking them for money for food, though I am always welcome at their tables. The problem is they are single, usually don’t have much besides beer and fast food in their refrigerators and have friends or their current lover over, making it inconvenient for mom to drop by for a meal.
“Hello! It’s Mom!” Using my key, I advanced into my daughter's kitchen. She quickly emerged from her bedroom door with an embarrassed grin.
"Uh, mom, I have a friend over right now." Her eyes hoped for understanding, as she was ushering me to the door.
"No problem, honey," I said with a false cheerfulness. Now where would I go. It was early afternoon and the price of gas made me want to stay nearby. It is ok if I miss a meal. I have hypothyroidism and have put on a lot of weight in the past few years. It sounded like a trade-off. I miss food, but get a few pounds skinnier.
Grocery store delis have become a favorite hangout. A meat and two vegetables usually lasts a couple meals, and is healthier than a burger and fries. I find a shady spot nearby, prop the square Styrofoam container on the bottom edge of the steering wheel and dig in.
Another dilemma is what to do with your time until you find a job. Libraries, bookstores and malls can keep you busy for a while. Certain parks, with walking trails are acceptable, if they are busy with other adults.
It is important to stay around busy places, because there are bad people who can tell when a person is living in her car. If something happened it might be several days before one of the family would start to look for me, and then they wouldn't really know where to look… because I don't have a home.
Night is the most challenging time. I pray God will show me safe places, which usually end up being higher end apartment complexes. People who live in apartments don’t keep looking outside for familiar cars. Upper class people are more apt to respond to a cry for help, in case of emergency.
Somewhere after 10 p.m., I drive slowly through the parking lot, looking for a quiet, unobtrusive spot. Once parked, I sit quietly, as if there is a reason for me to be there. I watch and listen for anything that would seem threatening. Then, as a child in an unfamiliar place, I commit my soul to God, trust Him to place angels around me, and fall into a, usually, broken sleep.
Thankfully, most nights are uneventful, I just go to sleep and wake up in the morning like the rest of the world, but in my car. One night a visitor disturbed the peacefulness in the early morning hours.
Tap! Tap! Tap! It was the middle of the night and someone was knocking on my car window! My heart pounded for a few minutes as I lifted my heart to the only One who can help.
“Lord! You promised to keep me safe!” I cried.
The outward stillness of my body did not betray my inward cry. I waited quietly and did not move. Strangely, I fell back to sleep. When I awoke, all was silent. Whoever had been knocking was gone.
“Thank you Lord!” I whispered. Then I worshiped the God who protects me, and fell back into a deep slumber.
In the early morning hours I quietly crept out of the parking lot like a nameless shadow. To be invisible is an asset.
A glass building in the city reflected the glory of another beautiful sunrise. Amazingly, although I am homeless, unemployed, and beset with difficulties, I feel loved by God. My life may seem to be a “hand to mouth” existence, but I consider it to be from His hand to my mouth. I knew in His time and His way, He would provide the right job, home and circumstances.
Looking up I smiled and gave thanks for another day.
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Quiet Lady 53
Last edited by quiet lady 53 : 09-05-2007 at 01:57 PM.
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