Mobile Loaves and Fishes- Street Retreat

"Here! For you!" Mike walked towards me with a huge smile on his face and a black corduroy coat, two sizes too small, held up for me to put my arms inside. I thanked him fervently as I surveyed the crowd. I searched for someone that would probably hang around for a bit to pass the jacket to once Mike left. I was grateful for the kind gesture and I didn't want to hurt his feelings. I stood by the park bench as I waited for him to leave. I wondered why he would worry about keeping a complete stranger warm- he didn't know my name, we'd never even interacted. Mike had been homeless for years, and he knew I was only going to be homeless for a couple days. Yet, he was earnestly and deeply concerned for my well-being.

Mike was my first glimpse of the dichotomy that exists within the the homeless community. There's an intense selflessness and "we" attitude, but there's also the simultaneous need to survive. Generally, the homeless people that we met each said that he or she was a trustworthy person, but that no one [else] was to be trusted. For 48 hours, our small group was going to simulate the homeless lifestyle in Austin, TX. It was probably the first time in my life that I actually sought out people living on the street in pursuit of any advice they would willingly offer.Now that I've done it, I'm sure there will be many more times I seek their advice.

It's hard to believe that at this time a week ago, I was digging through recycling bins for pieces of cardboard large enough to flatten out and sleep upon. Cardboard is a basic necessity of sleeping on the street- it keeps you from having to lie directly on the cold, hard concrete all night and we were lucky enough to find a church parking lot that is open to the homeless to sleep on every Friday. Before nightfall, the experience hadn't felt like much more than camping in the city while speculating what it might feel like to be homeless. Everything changed once we made up our "beds" and realized we weren't going to be able to ensure each other's safety. Temperatures dropped to freezing, it took thirty minutes for me and another one of the women to find somewhere to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night,  the noise and unknowns of the street made it incredibly difficult to sleep. Sleep typically refreshes and reassures one, but sleep was actually a bit unnerving and only taken out of complete necessity.

That was the most difficult thing to deal with- the restlessness. There was never a moment of peace, there were brief periods of rest, mainly during the day, but never really peace. Maybe it's because it was too new and foreign to me, but I think mostly it was because any attempt at security seemed futile. We always had to be aware of our surroundings, of who we were with and where we were going. Our senses were perpetually heightened, our adrenaline always pumping, and we were constantly interacting with our environment.

Physically, the experience was absolutely exhausting. Emotionally, it was absolutely humbling.

People like Peanut and Reptile showed me that marriage can survive many obstacles when your purpose and goal are the same. Smurf, the clean cut, good-looking, self-proclaimed "street kid," was one of many that taught me things aren't always as they appear. Lloyd could manage an entire restaurant, but instead, he lives in a box on top of the church where he works and volunteers. Scorpio, who now has his own place, slept in a parking lot four miles outside of the city just to join us for the night. A judge lent me his gloves when my hands got cold; a prosecutor carried the cardboard for my bed. The founder and president of a hugely successful non-profit organization spent his weekend asking the homeless what their solution would be, I saw him listen and observe for hours, and he's been doing it for years.

People were my dwelling place and my comfort. I didn't realize it until I entered my empty apartment. Not empty. I have things everywhere, but no one was with me. I really didn't know what to do with myself. There was nothing to look out for, nothing to react to and no one, with whom, to interact. In a matter of two days, my existential paradigm dramatically shifted. That's how things should be, I think. It's part of what makes the idea of "home" such a difficult concept. I don't think buildings were ever meant to do more than house us; "home" exists more in people than concrete. It may not be comfortable or predictable, but my time with the kind, caring, and loving people living on the streets of Austin, showed me that it's a much better way to live. Thank you for that. Thank you to everyone who participated in the Retreat. Thank you for sleeping alongside me. Thank you for serving alongside me. Just, thank you.

Truly,

AMF