the story unravels...

It's been a year. Have I changed? Am I more qualified now? Do I have more compassion? Do I have the answers? I couldn’t say that.

I’m reading The Soloist by Steve Lopez and it’s an autobiographical novel of sorts based on the journalist’s encounter with a musician, a musician who also happens to be a homeless and mentally ill man. I’d like to say this is a fantastical story, but I can’t. This is just another story; just another story in this line of work.

Stories. I have heard stories everyday this past year; everyday. It’s amazing not only how unique stories can be, but also how badly people want and need to share. Sometimes stories hurt too much to share too. People don’t plan to become homeless, and they certainly don’t do things on purpose to lead themselves to homelessness, despite society’s thinking. Homelessness happens suddenly to a person, even if their lifestyle shows a timeline of wrong choices. It’s always a shock to the person who is homeless. Homelessness is like a thief in the night. Suddenly, you find yourself wondering, how did I end up here? Is there anyone who can help me?

I have a coworker who says, "Show me a homeless person and I will show you a mental illness because they have to at least be depressed or anxious!" This may sound rude, but it’s true. My coworker doesn’t say this insensitively at all; in fact she tends to say it encouragingly. Many programs that exist to help the homeless require that the homeless person presents a mental illness to obtain help. My coworker finds it incredulous that one has to prove mental illness when obviously living on the street takes so much already out of a person. Many people develop mental illness before they hit the streets, but there are illnesses that are developed on the street too, due to the nature of the situation. And we have the nerve to state requirements in order to obtain help...

It’s been a long year, and I have had many highs and lows working here. I’d like to say some pretty lovely things about how I have grown, but the word that continues to sit with me is callousness. I have become calloused. Things that shocked me before have become just another story. It’s amazing how easy it is now to pick out someone that can be helped and others that you know are simply stuck between a rock and a hard place, and there is nothing you can do for the time being. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I see that a lot...

Though callous I may be, I still have hope. Hope for things to change has not left my repertoire. I think I am continually defined by it because hope is believing in things that are not yet seen, since who hopes for what they already have? Romans 8:24-25, my favorite words to live by. 

So stay tuned, because one year down doesn’t mean the problems are solved or solve-able. It also doesn't mean I’m done yet, or that God has stopped moving. Also, stay tuned because this soloist book has developed lots of words for things I didn’t know how to explain before. Excerpts to follow. Until then, back to the story.