You’ve seen them. So have I. Tattered ghosts of anemic anonymity, they haunt most major U.S. cities. Nameless, faceless.  Best kept at arm’s length.

 

I used to understand "The Homeless,” or so I thought. I sympathized with their plight, even donated to charitable agencies to help. Did I bother to find out Who or Why? Are you kidding?

 

I mean, c’mon. Anyone who’s "economically disadvantaged” is that way through some fault of their own. No one is "homeless" in The Land of Opportunity, right?  Aren’t The Homeless all drug addicts, alcoholics, mentally ill, or too lazy to "get a decent job?" I once thought so--until "The Homeless" was me.

 

Our odyssey began in June 2002 when our lease expired. My husband had been recently laid off and job-search efforts hadn’t borne fruit.

 

Unable to afford California housing, I contacted my best friend in Texas . Sue reported booming job markets and hire-hungry employers and offered to share her home "until you can get your own."  She likewise assured us that teachers were "in short supply" and Texas “only requires a B.A, not a full teaching credential.”  Texas schools were reportedly chomping at the bit to hire people with "teaching experience" like my husband, Chris, who taught as an outdoor science teacher until budget cuts resulted in a pink slip.

 

With housing secured and jobs reportedly plentiful, we relocated to Texas , expecting to build a new career and life. Our expectations soon shattered like a windshield under a baseball bat.

 

To our collective dismay we learned that Texas public schools not only require formal teaching credentials, but years of additional college courses. With that job market slammed shut, Chris pursued other possibilities. But Sue abruptly withdrew her housing offer a week later.

 

We had barely unpacked. Our move wiped out our meager savings. In a new state with no job and no income, we now had no home. Where could we go? How? Thin as an onion skin, our options ranged from bleak to grim. So we prayed. We contacted every individual and organization we could think of. No one could accommodate a family of six.

 

The prevailing attitude seemed to be, "I’ve got mine, how come you don’t have yours? What’s wrong with you?" Adding insult to injury, the clear implication was that our houseless-ness was of our own making. Blaming us was easy: find fault, even if you have to invent it, and you’re absolved from taking any personal action to help.

 

Desperate, Chris called his brother and outlined our predicament.

 

"How many rooms do you need?" Don asked from the cell phone inside his long-haul Peterbilt cab.

 

"Two or three," Chris sighed, steeling himself for another rejection.

 

"I have two extra rooms and I’m out on the road most of the time.  Come live here."  It was the only door that opened.

 

We bailed out of Texas and arrived at our new "home” 2,300 miles later. Thankful for any roof over our heads, I began to rethink my freeze-dried, cellophane-wrapped prejudices about "The Homeless."

 

That was four years ago.  We now have our own home.  It’s nothing palatial, but it’s enough.  Since then I’ve had to learn to fight the knee-jerk prejudice that automatically classifies "The Homeless" as irresponsible gold bricks and realize that while blanket assumptions are quick and comfortable, they’re rarely accurate.

 

I’ve shed some of my prickly prejudices as I’ve learned that “the poor” occupy a special place in God’s kingdom. Why?  Maybe because they must depend upon Him for everything, including housing. As the Apostle Paul explains in II Corinthians 12, “… My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” 

 

Dependency on the Father pleases Him. His grace is sufficient, especially when my insufficiency allows Him to move in ways where only He gets the glory.

 

I’m learning to say with Paul, “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.  That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties.”  Indeed, He has a special love, a tender grace for those whose only home and hope are in Him.

 

Copyright by Kristine K. Lowder