Showing posts with label homeless shelter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label homeless shelter. Show all posts

Saturday, January 14, 2023

It Can Be A Painful Pilgrimage For People


Life.


Life on Earth can be a painful pilgrimage for people, and I'm certainly one of those who is experiencing this. For those who may not contemplate their existence here, on such terms, this article does a very good job of defining, and describing, what I am referring to in this post:https://www.york.ac.uk/projects/pilgrimage/intro.html. It says,
"'Pilgrimage'  is  often  used  to  describe  an  individual's   journey   through  life, sometimes as  a general  description  of personal  growth  and exploration,  [and] sometimes,  as  in  Christianity,  outlining  a particular  spiritual focus  or pathway which it is believed will  lead to encounter with God."  This month, I'm sharing my memorabilia as I have been since October, after sorting through alot of old papers and such, that I had saved, which are documentation of both my life story and my giving an honest and accurate account of it. In this post I am focusing on spiritual things, which I have felt, and written about, in some form or other, during my life.

A journal entry of mine . . . .
                                                                                      18 March 92
                                                                                      10:50 PM

. . . . Everybody thinks I'm always supposed to be strong, & Christian, & together, & forgiving no matter what, & I'm not. I'm tired! Tired of all the grief, & loss, & heartache, & betrayals. Tired of the struggle . . . . I want peace , & there is no peace. I've got to have peace. I need trust & there is no trust-- especially with my closest loved ones. Is love only in my imagination? A sugar-coated pain from Hell? 

Another one of my journal entries . . . .
                                                                                     1 January 1993

As I begin this personal journal for the year 1993, I have seen the Lord meet every basic human need through each month's struggle and crises. I am going through frustrating, frightening, and difficult times, working multiple jobs with few hours and low wages, and on Food Stamps for the first time in my life. God told me just to trust Him, though, and so far He has met my needs for food, clothing, shelter (and to be with CeeBee), mostly through the help of others. He has not failed me, and yet there's the issue of me continuing to cry out to Him regarding deeper needs; desires of my heart . . . . I desire to love and be loved; to be in a committed Christian marriage with a man who loves God above anyone and anything. I desire to be a homemaker; have a sense of stability, home, family, affection, laughter. I desire a safe home for my pet cockatiel, CeeBee, and I. I desire to continue loving the Lord above all else and grow in Him and be blessed by Him. . . .

[NOTE: Some, of these things, became irrelevant, in my life, as the years passed. 
CeeBee flew home to Heaven in 2011, after nearly 20 years of unconditional love.
I was in my 30s, when I wrote this journal entry. I am in my 60s, now. I wrote it following my last marriage to a man that I refer to as a son of Satan who abused me so continually and in so many ways that he finally shattered my soul, making everything about living life so much harder for me. He dragged me to the depths of Hell by how he treated me and the first time he ever threatened me was mere minutes after we had just said our marriage vows! Due to the terror and trauma, he inflicted on me, for my making the mistake of trying to love him, I backed off, from my desire to be married, and I have stayed single, ever since then. Happily so for the most part. I feel like I just can't risk that another man would think I'm his property to mistreat, especially because, I married him! I still wonder what it would be like, to truly be loved by someone, that I love. I've never had a man in my life who, "loves God above anyone and anything". I can't even imagine that.]

A letter that I wrote, to the owner of, mega home store, Nebraska Furniture Mart:

                                                                                     1702 Nicholas Street                                                                                          Omaha, NE 68102
                                                                                      July 15, 2017

Dear Mr. Blumkin,

           Thank you so much for your kind response to my letter I wrote you from Siena Francis House Women's Shelter, where I have, as of today, been living for six weeks. I am so grateful for their help, here, as they take excellent care of us. My own personal ways of being able to 'give back' to them are limited, by my situation and resources, although I do find various ways, on a daily basis, to try to help meet needs here in the shelter. I reached out to you regarding the well-worn, torn, and stained carpeting because I could see it was a real need here, and I am so very grateful to you that you responded that you are willing to assist Siena Francis House in selecting and pricing out flooring when they are ready to do this! . . . since I am continuing my search for a suitable apartment (for a 61-year-old woman), with a landlord that will accept my 'HUDVASH' (Veteran Affairs) Section 8 Housing Voucher, and I will be able to leave the homeless shelter once I can obtain that housing. . . . 
        As I have never been in a homeless shelter prior to this, I didn't have any idea what to expect. I have been very grateful for the many positive aspects, and struggle some with the lack of privacy, and, times of sleep deprivation due to snorers, door closings, baby crying, etc. Being poor, I'd longed . . . to be able to go to the zoo ($20.00 - $40.00 for the Adult Admission, alone) and the Joslyn [Art Museum] to see the special traveling exhibit (that requires paid admission). I was so excited that they took us on outings to do both of these activities! They also gave me a pair of new tennis shoes, to walk the zoo pain free (my old pair had holes). I got some chocolate-dipped coconut macaroons the other day, donated in a bag of sweet treats from Panera Bread. . . . but several restaurants have sent us their specialties while I've been here. Also, a Veteran Event is hosted here & we had pizza and watched a movie. . . . They had BINGO here, too, and I won a pretty lipstick the [other] girls compliment the color of. 
       We have chore lists, daily. We sign up for our time in the laundry room. At some point, everyone here-- staff and us included-- get annoyed at others and annoy others. Yet, for a varied social environment like this, with different ethnicities, cultures, age groups, languages, backgrounds, & lifestyles, there is a very touching and tender atmosphere of support, cooperation, and love. There are many conversations about God and Faith; and, other, more 'colorful', comments, about life, as well, as we each grapple with this reality we face in our own way.
      The people I have met-- and loved-- here I will never forget. Sharing this intense experience forges friendships that will endure. Tears come to my eyes picturing some of these in my mind, now, to try to describe them to you. I am humbled by what I've learned about them and from them. My heart has been opened, now, to types of people I'd never directly interacted with or personally experienced before, in some cases; some I likely feared, before. This place is filled with the deep waters of Humanity; adrift, afloat, & struggling. Sharp voices; soothing voices. Laughter & tears overheard. I am constantly amazed by how much positivity the women muster, and strength, in coming here (sometimes for physical safety but always) to seek improvement in their life situation. 
      In closing, I'd like to share a little of the joy & laughter I've had here: I slept for 5 weeks in the Mat room, on a thick foam mattress-of-sorts on the floor, that is surprisingly comfy. There can be 20 women on mats in that one large room, more or less, at any given time, depending on how many have come through the front secured gate seeking help in their situation. My first night or so, I was awakened by a 'symphony of snorers' and sat up with a tired sigh to survey the scene. I saw one other girl, also sitting up staring around the room for the same (problematic) reason. We exchanged frustrated glances & shrugs of 'nothing can change it'-- IT IS WHAT IT IS. Then, as she watched, I solemnly raised both arms as an orchestra conductor would & 'directed' these sleepers, bringing in the bass-like snorers, then the 'woodwind' snorers, and so on. She & I smiled then, at the scene, & lay back down again. Another night before bed in the mat room (I'm in a bunkbed room, now), I plopped down on my mat & looked around. Girls were on their mats before lights out, some writing, some Googling, some rolling their hair, some conversing, some watching a TV show. I smiled at the scene & said to Sheryl-- another older woman, with a similar sense of humor-- "This reminds me of summer camp", to which she replied, to the laughter of all in the room, "This ain't NO 'summer camp'!-- We is HOMELESS!" She's gone now, from Siena Francis House, and is enjoying her new apartment!-- God bless you, Deborah Robinson

I came across a note that I wrote to myself about my time living in the homeless shelter, in the summer of 2017. It has the name "Ashley" on the scrap of paper. I added "One of the several, women, I led to the Lord (by His Holy Spirit) while we lived in (the homeless shelter) Siena Francis. Others got saved, excited about my relationship w/Jesus & interested in their Bible study and growth."

I wrote a poem (free verse poetry that does not rhyme or have a regular meter), about a young Army veteran, named B.C., whom I met, the same summer that I was in the homeless shelter, when I was stuck in the VAMC for awhile, after that. He looked just like Jesus, with his long hair, and he occasionally exhibited benign behavior if you encountered him on a, rare, good day when he was medicated to the extent that he was safe around the other patients in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit. Many, if not most, of his days, he was frighteningly out of control, and one night he slipped into another male patient's room as he lay sleeping soundly, and beat the poor guy up while the staff was off the floor for their briefing during shift change. Just before he did that, I heard someone jiggling the door handle to my room but my back was to the door at the time. I didn't roll over to see who it was, because I assumed it was the nursing staff, doing the room checks, as they also peered through the small window in the door of each room to see if we were asleep. Had my door not been securely locked, I hate to think of what B.C. might have done to me. It, still, gives me chills. A couple of times, he seemed to regain his sanity enough to carry on a conversation with me for a few brief sentences of exchange between us before his eyes disengaged and took on the vacant zombie-like look that he had for most of every day. His outbursts were terrifying when he blew up at staff, trying to get him to, eat something, or shower. They would often have to sedate him to keep him from harming himself or others. He had served in the war in the Middle East where Americans were sent to fight, and I cannot even imagine, what he had seen, or gone through, there, that took a, fully functioning, young man, who had clearly been competent, at some point, to be sent there, at all, and pushed him, to a point, beyond, what he could cope with, causing B.C. to lose his mind. Some of the other veterans, I met there, who suffered enormously from PTSD (as do I, but, mine is due to different experiences, than theirs, while I was enlisted), were able to talk a little bit about things they had seen, over in the Middle East, and it was horrible to hear. When a bed became available on the side of the hospital floor that offered a dorm-like live-in setting, for stressed vets, like myself and others, to both learn and improve coping and life skills, I went to that side, but B.C. remained in the locked ward as, clearly, the most hopeless case, of any patient in that psych ward. Even though he was 'unreachable' my heart went out to him. I wish I knew what became of him and whether he is institutionalized.


                                                                                         
                         (A young man, in a war zone. This, is not B.C., though)
                             
[Reference the following post for alot more information on that chapter of my life: https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2022/06/romans-828-trusting-god-regardless.html]              

I was in one of my classes at the VAMC, live-in, program, when we were asked to write about some experience that left a strong impression on us and then share it with the group. I had not been able to get B.C. out of my mind. He was locked up  and heavily medicated, on the other side of the same floor as me, in the hospital. [I did not even have any medications, my entire time there, on either side of that floor, except for my over-the-counter Benadryl, for my allergies, and it was, 'only as needed' (PRN).] I still wonder, what ever became of B.C. He was in bad shape.  I don't know if that young man ever regained his right mind. He was so young! It was so sad. So, in that class, that day, at the VAMC, I wrote about B.C. I cried as  I read it to the other veterans there. He was now this, appealing, yet frightening, shell, of a young man. The whole thing, with him, haunted me. Here is my poem:
         
                                                          B.C.

                                                        8-6-17

                                                  Deb Robinson

Brandon stood before me, smiling,
eyes to eyes, all bright with openness,
we greeted one another with
exchanges, of notice, and names.
"You look like Jesus!", I observed audibly,
to which he replied, "Yes, I do", 
and added, "You can call me 'B.C.'"
"Like, 'Before Christ'", I acknowledged.
This young man, a recent veteran,
after serving on active duty
until it finally broke him,
was in his PICU pajamas & socked feet, 
scuffling up and down the halls (on his good days)--
walking & walking & walking.
He would be 'absent' from the locked ward activities,
more often than not, I would soon discover.
I always missed him, when he was not around;
staying in his room,
angry and aloof,
sleeping all day.
I also missed him when he was around,
but not really 'present', with us.
Most days, when I looked at his dulled, unfocused, eyes,
and said, "Hi, B.C.",
there was no apparent recognition,
or response, at all,
to my invitation to interaction.
B.C., after serving our country,
now stood there before me,
yet was Missing In Action.
I wondered, watching him,
walking & walking & walking,
away, again, down the hall,
back to his room, to bed,
what touch-- to his body, soul, & spirit--
the Lord Jesus,
whom he so resembled,
might impart to B.C.,
to heal all that had become broken
in him--
including his mind and heart.

This is a letter I wrote to a priest I'd been talking to about theological differences:
 
                                                                                             August 20, 2015
Fr. Carl,
     Thank you for the visit with one another at the parish office this afternoon.
     Whenever I say something in a conversation regarding any 'Christian' subject matter that the hearer indicates they are not familiar with, I conscientiously try to follow up to clarify that, because as a Called-to-ministry layperson representing my Lord as His disciple/ambassador to others, one of my responsibilities is to bring light/shed light. Leaving known questions or concerns with someone, therefore, isn't helpful to that mission. Even communication does not clear things up, in all cases, but providing the scriptural source that I am citing gives the person the opportunity to understand how seriously and respectfully I approach my efforts toward the Great Commission; and that my heart is never to patronize or disregard the immense value of each soul I interact with whether that be to God, or to me, including on God's behalf, by my leaving any confusion or doubt, about spiritual matters, 'in my wake', when departing the encounter. 
     I am supposing you would mandatorily have a Greek reference work, for your study of the Bible, in order to 'check out' the word I used with you, in describing the source of the energy exuded by me that fuels and fosters the Christian love (that I cannot do at all on my own!) which emanates through me to others by the Presence and power of God's Holy Spirit. It was part of my discussion that-- apart from Him-- there is no 'good' about 'me'. Indeed, Jesus said, ". . . there is none good but God." I used the Greek/biblical term "dunamis" (δύναμις). It speaks of the ability/power/strength/might to do a wonder work (for God; indeed-- by God through 'me'). I have heard it said our word "dynamite" comes from the root of this, and it comes out of the meaning "to be able or possible".
    I was saying to you that all love, truth, forbearing with (the unsavoriness & annoyance, to my own flesh, of dealing with hurtful, difficult) people, etc., flowed from me by God's Holy Spirit/power within me, and that there is nothing truly 'good' in 'me' apart from that. Acts 1:8 ("power") is this word 'dunamis'! Many other verses, including Acts 4:33, 6:8, 10:38, Luke 9:1, Matthew 6:13, etc. I call 'dunamis' (II Timothy 1:7, 8, & 9) the animating, energizing unction that provides not only the (Grace-given) ability (Romans 7:15 - 25, especially verse 18) to love - pray - go - tell - etc., to fulfill the Great Commission, in Jesus' Name, but even the desire (Romans 7:18) to do so, because my flesh never wants anything beyond its own wants/needs met, and my own spirit can know I should, or think I can, "Go into all the world and preach the Gospel", yet fall short, because 'my' own efforts can't sustain it. 
    Weariness, rejection, inconvenience, distaste (at odds with 'my' own natural affinities), etc., beset 'me' and I become bogged down, losing all desire to continue the effort. Should I, nevertheless, try, even then, it becomes a 'flat', tedious, Pharisee-type 'religious' exercise done in the wrong 'spirit' for the wrong reasons, rather than the 'relational' interaction where (the reality of) Christ (& His Love, in us) is lifted up, so that He can & will draw men unto Himself, again, 'relationally'. 'Religion' lacks the intimacy that must come from 'relationship'. I'm not a fan of 'religion' for its own sake. 
    . . . . Peter-- my favorite disciple-- 'grew into' his Calling, by the Holy Spirit's help, & became very good at speaking up & speaking out, even in 'intimidating' circumstances. (Acts 4:13 & 29 & 31) Paul, never shy, covers this-- and also some of the subjects you & I spoke of today-- in the passage of Hebrews 4:12 - 16
    Also, here is the passage where Jesus is saying that, ultimately, it is the Father, not Himself, who is to become our "all in all" (Amplified Bible), which I quoted to you in our discussion today: 1 Corinthians 15:20 - 28. Many if not most Christians teach and preach that Jesus is to have that position in the Kingdom of God and in our worship of God, when He is telling us, Himself, that this is not to be the case.
  
                                                                  Existing from, by, and in the Lord,
                                                                  Deborah Robinson
                                                                  (Gen 35:8, & Judges 4:4 - 5:15)

Coming full circle, in this post, I leave you with a poem that I wrote 21 March 91 titled 'Upward, Christian soldier!' I wrote it for our military serving in the Persian Gulf at the time. It describes the need to walk with God, through our pilgrimage, especially when that journey takes us to the battlefield and/or into the unknown:

Upward, Christian Soldier!

Christian soldier, take God's hand,
And through the endless miles of sand
Walk by faith and not by sight
Through each day and every night.

Read God's Word-- on it we feed--
It's the spirit's MRE*!
Wholesome food to nourish souls,
And strengthen us in all our roles.

Hold this knowledge ever fresh:
Our war is really not with flesh,
But with the sin inside us all
That weighs us down and makes us fall.

Our hope is in the Lord alone;
He'll redeem what we have blown,
If we repent, get on our face,
And come to Him to seek His grace.

When you return again to home,
Or wherever else you roam,
Know for certain God is there
To lift and carry every care.

Though we love you, more does He,
With love that lasts eternally!
Count on Him then; He won't fail.
His love for you will never pale.

by Deborah [Robinson]

Verses from Isaiah 35 (The Living Bible)

"Even the wilderness and desert will rejoice in those days. . . . for the Lord will display His glory there, the excellency of our God. With this news bring cheer to all discouraged ones. Encourage those who are afraid. Tell them, 'Be strong, fear not, for your God is coming to destroy your enemies. He is coming to save you.' And when He comes, He will open the eyes of the blind, and unstop the ears of the deaf. . . . God will walk there with you . . . . These, the ransomed of the Lord, will go home along that road to Zion, singing the songs of everlasting joy. For them all sorrow and sighing will be gone forever; only joy and gladness will be there."

*MRE - A Meal, Ready-to-Eat (MRE) is a self-contained, individual field ration. MRE's are basically pre-ready food for use on the battlefield during actual military operations when normal food service facilities are not available.

A NOTE to my readers regarding next month's blog post, which will focus on love:
I will share alot of things from and about men who have traveled into and through and out of my life during their own journey, in next month's post. With Valentine's Day being in February it seemed appropriate to save those for that post. Also, my birthday is in February, marking yet another year gone by without my ever having experienced, real, reciprocated, love, in my life. At this point, given things as they are, I don't think that it's something I will ever have. I have only been in love, like that, twice, in my entire life, despite meeting, many thousands of guys, including, in my dancer days, when I worked in the nightclubs, and it was part of my job, to talk with the customers, during every single shift. It was like eventually earning a PhD, in Men, only, if anything, it disgusted me, and drove me away, from wanting any man in my personal life. There just wasn't ONE that could UNLOCK MY HEART to LOVE. I compare it to those scenes I have seen in TV shows and movies where the guy is a safecracker, and is able to open the safe when he has not been given the key or the combination, to do so. He just slowly and carefully checks different numbers to see if they will line up so he can gain access to the safe and all of the valuables, inside. Only TWO men have EVER been able to UNLOCK MY HEART! No one else ever came close. Due to circumstances as they were it couldn't work out with either one. It is what it is. So, those things that I will share, next month, are mostly things that I was given by various men, over the years, who may have felt something for me, but I just didn't feel it for them. When I love someone it's very deep but it's also very rare. My heart is not an easy safe to crack at all! I'm picky, I am very sure of who I am, and I, absolutely, know, what I do, and don't, like, in other people, including men, in my life. My Valentine's post will basically be about my NOT finding ROMANTIC love, but honestly, I am far more content to spend the rest of my life all alone than to settle for poor choices, which I felt I had no choice but to do, when I was younger, and also did because of that BULLCRAP that, LOVE CONQUERS ALL. It, most definitely, does NOT. THAT is merely a myth; a fairy tale.

Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Romans 8:28--- Trusting God, Regardless.



[The blog post that precedes what this one is about, on the timeline of my life, is https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/03/my-summer-living-in-homeless-shelter_27.html  and the one that would be just after this post would be https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2021/09/its-said-when-life-gives-you-lemons.html if these had been written in, chronological, order. Trusting God, regardless, of my circumstances, is what got me through it.] 

The foundational Bible verse, for me, is Romans 8:28. "And  we  know  that  God causes everything  to  work  together  for  the  good  of  those who love God and are called according to his purpose for them." (NLT) It is both, the beginning and ending point, of my faith, in God. At some point, in my spiritual journey, I had to make a decision whether I was going to trust God, even when things didn't make any sense to me at the time; if ever. Or, when what was happening to me wasn't something that I wanted, or what wasn't happening was something that I deeply desired. Sometimes, the circumstances that I have found myself in have seemed to have no 'redeeming' factors, anywhere, in sight; but, God calls me to "walk by faith not by sight" (2 Corinthians 5:7), and Hebrews 11:6 tells me, "without faith  it is impossible to please God." There was a point in my life that, I had looked up to the heavens and, as much as was possible, cursed God, to His face-- basically, telling Him that, if He weren't going to be, my heavenly, 'Santa Claus', to get the fuck out of my life altogether. What followed was the worst 3 days of my life. The Holy Spirit left me and at the time I didn't know if what I had done was what the Bible calls 'the unpardonable sin'. ["Therefore I tell you every sin and blasphemy will be forgiven people but the blasphemy against the Spirit will not be forgiven." Matthew 12:31 ESV] I was overjoyed, when God's, precious, Holy Spirit returned to me, and I told Him, then, that, I could not promise Him, that I would never be upset with how things were, in my life, going forward, but that I would never tell Him to leave me ever again. I have kept that promise to my Holy Companion, all the years since then. NOTHING and NO ONE matters more to me than God does.

Any, of us, can, easily, find good, and bad, in every situation. It just depends, on the lens we look through, so to speak. We seem to mostly see what we expect to see, overlooking or discrediting anything that doesn't align with that, nearly-self-fulfilling, outlook on life. If we decide we're having a 'bad' day, then we grab hold of and keep a running tally on how many incidents and occurrences are evidence to support that claim. If we believe, this will be a good day, our attitude toward it can go a long way, in making that true, for us, despite, inevitable challenges that pop up in our path. I don't get it right all the time, by any means. There are days that, I don't even want to climb out of bed, preferring to hide my head under the sheets, as I try, halfheartedly, to give myself a sufficient pep talk to be willing, to risk, venturing out of bed, and meeting the day on its own terms. Some days are satisfactory, but other days seem more like a special delivery from Satan himself. It's the never-being-sure-what's-coming, or how I will cope with whatever that is, that exacerbates my anxiety. What finally gets me out of bed, come what may, is the reassurance I have that God's 'got me'; and that He's not letting go of me no matter what, does, or doesn't, happen. Without my strong, sure, faith in God, I'd have likely been 'done in' by life, by now. Destroyed, by it, some way, or another. That faith was particularly instrumental in getting me through those events of the summer of 2017; none of which, I wanted to have to go through. I had no choice.

My previous post, about my time living in the homeless shelter (the link to that is above), described how I clung to my faith, and a positive attitude, to help me rise above the situation that I found myself in. There were alot of challenges, to living in a homeless shelter, though. I encountered more of that, as time went on, and I learned how the system operated. Bringing that many, women, and children, and, men (in their own shelter just across the street), together, all of whom had ended up there seeking assistance, for, a wide variety, of reasons, from domestic abuse, to drug use, to mental illness, to homeless veterans, who did not have 'the safety net' of their former military units, providing for their basic needs, any longer, and found themselves floundering as to how to fit in with the civilian sector of society, now, and folks, like me, who were unemployed through no fault of their own, and who ended up losing the roof over our head and having to show up at the shelter, was a challenging circumstance. Add to that, the full range of attitudes, displayed by staff members as well as by other agency employees who came there in order to provide ancillary assistance, such as those from the VA who came to the multi-building-campus, of the homeless shelter, to assist veterans, like me. Some were sincere. Some wore a mask of caring and concern, that eventually fell off. I can't really fault them for that indifference of theirs, though. Given that they worked in a place where they saw new faces on a daily basis and at about the 6-week point at the longest those people they were serving had all been replaced by new ones with equally pressing needs I could understand why they might be burned out to the point that their emotions were numb, and some, of their hearts, had become calloused. I think that people who work in that field start out altruistically for the most part. But then, they see, and hear, so much suffering, from the endless line of people coming through those doors, that I think some self-protectiveness, like forming a hard outer shell on their heart, happens with them, at some point, just for self-preservation. I felt some of that at times when I worked in nursing, in my twenties. I really did care about my patients, and they commented on how caring  I was with them, on a regular basis. But, my dealing with sick, and dying, people day in and day out, sometimes, left me feeling emotionally drained, by all of that. We just had to do the best we could under the circumstances to get the job done. It was the same for the workers whose task was to help each of us at the shelter.

The social workers assigned to help people, like me, who were in the shelter, also had to learn, how to make the often cumbersome and complicated social services system work more expediently for those needing their help. That meant that they were trained to look for anything, in a client's situation, that they could exploit as being an urgent need, for the assistance that they were requesting on our behalf. Without that, more timely assistance, those they were sent to help get into stable housing could fall through the bureaucratic cracks and not get the help they need. One day, one of the team of VA social workers was driving me back to the shelter, after taking me out to look for a place for me to live, when she saw a young man, walking along the roadside, in the shelter area. Rolling down her car window, she came alongside him, as he walked along, and started speaking to him, by name. I could tell, that there was some kind of history, between the two of them, that this man was not at all happy with her about. He looked, really angry, at her, and kept on walking along the road, as she drove beside him for a bit, trying, to get him to speak to her. Realizing that this was not going to happen with him, she decided to drive me to a homeless encampment in some woods, close to the shelter, to show me where he was headed. As she did, she told me that he was also a veteran and that he had been one of her assigned cases, but that, although, she tried, to help him, he had not wanted the help that she had obtained for him; and rejecting her help, after whatever that had been, that, he so disliked, her doing, was now living in this homeless camp. I felt scared, and didn't appreciate her involving me in her drive, down into the woods, where this camp was, after she told me that it was a, male, and female, homeless camp, and that, a woman had been murdered in that very encampment, shortly before, I had come to stay in the shelter, very close, to it. It was, a good location, for it, for those, staying there, because the shelter was in walking distance, to it, and offered free meals, to anyone in the community, not just those staying in the men's, and women and children's, shelters. I did not ask, this social worker, what she had done, that made that young man so furious, with her, and because of, strict, privacy guidelines, she should not tell me that anyway.

I discovered something unsettling, to me, while staying at the shelter. For reasons of funding, as it was explained, to me, the shelter did their best to have everyone coming through their door back out no later than 6 weeks from showing up there. This was a very tight timeline, for, government, assistance agencies, to work with, which are notoriously slow-moving systems. Being new to shelter life, I didn't see this happening, to person after person, who was staying there, until I had been in the shelter for about a month myself. Several women who were staying there had each gone from, smiling, to stressed, as the weeks wore on, and with each one, I had seen them being treated much more coldly, by staff members, culminating in these women being put out of the shelter; some in troubling ways that I had seen happen to them firsthand. I hadn't realized that it was even happening until I had made friends with some of the women, who had stayed in this shelter before, and they began to, hint, to me, in whispered tones, that something, quite unpleasant, would be happening to them soon, if their assigned caseworker couldn't get them into housing before the end of their sixth week there. I couldn't understand how a homeless shelter could or would just put them out at that point; even if, they still had nowhere to go. It was confusing, and concerning, to me. It scared me too, as my own time there also began to approach that 6-week-mark, when the shelter's, Welcome mat, got pulled out from under your feet, if you weren't out of there, by then. Some women were sent to stay in another shelter in Omaha, but often they were all full, with no openings. I never knew, what happened to the women, then.

I never saw them again, to find out. One that I knew well, who was in no way any kind of a troublemaker, was told by shelter staff that she had to be out of there by the very next day, or they would call the police, to remove her for trespassing!?! I was shocked at this because she had nowhere to go and they knew that! We were each assigned a social worker to be our caseworker at the shelter, upon arrival, at the shelter. (I also had the, additional, assistance, of caseworkers from the VA.) If they failed to secure housing, for their clients, by the 6-week-mark, why were the women in the shelter being penalized for that? It just didn't seem right to me. My heart broke, for these women, as I watched, one, after another, who had come to the shelter, just before, I had, being treated this way. I began to feel, increasingly apprehensive, about, my own standing, there, too, as the weeks went by, and the VA social workers weren't showing up very often, to help me search for housing. I was getting a housing voucher for Section 8 housing, through the VA, so the place I would have to live in, would be one that took this voucher, that they had for me. When they did, take me out of the shelter, for the afternoon, to search for a place for me, we just weren't finding anything, available. Every place seemed to have a waiting list. I was tired of staying in the shelter, and had even become sick at this point, with a respiratory virus disparagingly dubbed 'kennel cough' that circulated in this communal setting. The VA social workers had a large caseload of homeless veterans that they were helping, besides me. They only had so much time for any one of us, and our individual housing search. Nothing, was simple, or streamlined.

The staff at the shelter did alot to make our stay there as pleasant as possible for the most part. Even so, it was also, a very trying environment, to exist in. I am a 'Live, and let live', kind of person, who tries to focus on living my own life and let others live theirs, as they see fit. If their behavior, as they express themselves, is not directly impacting me, in some detrimental way, I tend to, not waste my time and energy, dealing with it myself. Those people just aren't a priority to me. I see them as being 'background noise' and nothing more. The fleeting moments of my life are far too precious to waste on them. People are going to act out, because of who they are. Even when they try to make it about me, it really is all about them. Sometimes, though, people will do something that makes it hard to ignore. It has to be addressed, at that point. When I was sleeping in the Mat Room on the floor, there was a young woman, who also slept in there (among, 50 or so, of us), who was having a very difficult time dealing with her natural sexual urges, who would masturbate on her mat after Lights Out, with full sound effects accompanying her orgasms. The rest of us just lay there in stunned silence left to deal with our own reactions to this very audible stimulus. Some were repulsed, some envious, some simply sleep deprived. Nothing, about living in a shelter, was 'life as usual', for us.

Another young woman who wasn't able to be verbally communicative with us due to some sort of condition, which had left her with, a mental deficiency, placed her mat just below mine on the floor each night, after she arrived. She seemed to not comprehend that tissues were available to her in the shelter and instead chose to wipe her constantly runny nose onto her hand and then rubbed that snot off onto the dingy carpet on the floor. She also picked the boogers out of her nose, wiping those off, from her fingers, onto the floor, by her mat, as well. I gagged watching this, and finally did tell the staff so that they might convince her of more hygienic options, for this, daily, ritual of hers. All to no avail. I did become very cautious of where I was stepping, when in that room. When the staff finally insisted she wash her clothes and sheets in the laundry room she went in there and locked the door so that no one could come in, even to get the cleaning supplies we needed for our assigned daily chores. She stripped herself naked and stood there that way as the machine ran, refusing to unlock the door for anyone. We clearly saw that this was the case because there was a window in the door of the laundry room, making us unsure of what she thought that she actually accomplished by locking us out. The shelter had a nun assigned to it by one of the parishes, who ran the Bingo games and set up a long table full of Catholic rosaries, icons, and prayer cards to various saints. I never heard her mention, the actual Gospel, one time, while I was there, but she often testified that the wolf was her Totem Animal. Whatever that means.

Not long after I was staying there, it was on the news that, a homeless man, that was staying at the shelter, took, two of the shelter's social workers, hostage (one, of which, had been assigned to me, when I was there). I called her and asked her about that ordeal, some time after that, and it turned out that, someone had told this man that his clothes (the only possessions that he had left) had been thrown out because he hadn't emptied the machine after doing his laundry, and someone else had needed it. They told him, the social workers, had told them to do that. It wasn't true-- they were 'jerking his chain'-- causing him to come off the chain, so to speak, but he came after those ladies with a gun, holding them hostage. Police came, there was a standoff, but he was eventually taken into custody. That social worker, that I knew from my time there, told me how shaken up she was by that, due to knowing that, she could have easily been killed. There were people huffing aerosols there, people falling out in epileptic seizures there, and, representatives, of the full spectrum of socioeconomic ills plaguing humanity. I felt, strangely safe, while I was there, simply, because of, God, letting me know, that, for, that time, I was where He wanted me to be. Learning, what I had to learn. Doing, what I had to do. I led several people to the Lord, while I was there. Even in the midst of my own, personal, situation. I am, only human, though, and as I got closer to, the 6-week-point, which, by now, I, clearly, knew, was going to, lead to, some, kind, of, confrontation, and ultimatum, if I were still there, I just disciplined myself to stay focused and stay in prayer. I knew that my very survival depended on my hearing and obeying God. My faith in God is strong and sure, and I'm pretty spunky when I'm acting out of my beliefs. Modern religion has nullified much of the truth of the Gospel by making God into a benign Blessing Machine, with no agenda of His own for our lives, among other things. If people today were watching Jesus' actions on Earth, and the behaviors of the disciples, at times, as they, stepped out, boldly, in faith, they would likely be as critical of those things now as the religious pharisees were then. It seems that people either aren't reading the Word of God themselves or, are not really paying attention when they do read it. God calls those of us who love Him, and trust Him, to walk through some of the most difficult things, for the modern mind to accept that He would ask of us, more spoiled, people, who are on the Earth today. He needs and uses 'willing vessels', that say, to Him, 'Yes, Lord. I will do as You have required of me, for Your Glory." God had already asked me, to trust Him, and go stay in the shelter, and I saw some amazing results from that. I knew that I knew that I knew, that He had me in His Hands, and that was where I needed to stay to be safe. It's said that the safest place to be is in the Will of God.


The staff had always been polite to me, except for a couple of cold bitches, one of which was a shelter manager. I didn't normally have direct dealings with her. She mainly supervised the other side of the women's shelter where the group of long-term, recovering addicts, were housed, during the program they were enrolled in. The manager, who had done, my initial intake, when I had first arrived, knew me, and my heart for the others in this place. She told me, once, somewhat ashamed, that she had lost sight of that, in herself, over the years there, and admired that I had that compassion for others, even in the midst of my own stressful situation. I made sure that she knew, all, the Glory, for my being able to do that, belonged to God, who gave me the Grace that I needed, to be able to fulfill what He asked, of me. She knew as well as I did that I was almost to that 6-week-stay point when I would find myself being dealt with harshly, if not put out of the shelter altogether, if the VA social workers had still not secured housing for me by then. I kept them posted on this, but they were doing all they could do for me. It was what it was. I continued to seek God in prayer, listening for His Lead. I felt Him preparing me for a change but I just didn't know what that was going to involve. I had seen alot, in the shelter, including, a certain amount of favoritism, by the staff, toward some of those staying in the shelter. They generally told everyone that, they couldn't bring their pets with them to the shelter; yet, a very personable young woman who was apparently a recurring customer was allowed to stay long term, on this side of the shelter, with her rather rambunctious dog. He slept inside a metal cage beside her floor mat. He was neither, a service animal or, authentically, an emotional support animal. She and I had become friends, over the weeks I was there. She would be very helpful to me, as it turned out, when the shit hit the fan, as I hit the 6-week point there. The shelter manager who knew me well went on vacation, about that time, and the bitchy one, who was always very brusque, and never smiled, was in charge, in her absence, on this side, of the shelter. I had stayed longer, in the Mat Room, than most other women, because the women with children, and those with a physical mobility challenge, were given the primary preference, on being placed in the rooms, that had two sets of bunk beds in them. I had, finally, been given a lower bunk bed, in one of those rooms, and was in there, for about, a week and a half, or so, when I got to the unspoken-but-now-obvious, 6-week-mark, to be out.
I was so relieved to finally be out of the Mat Room, because not long before I was transferred, out of it, they began to have a bed bug issue, in there. There is really no guarantee, of avoiding that, anywhere, in the shelter, but the women I knew in the rooms, told me that, since only the few people that lived in those rooms, were allowed in them, there was much less risk of that happening there. The Mat Room just seemed really nasty, to me, by now. I had 'paid my dues', my weeks in there.

One day, after breakfast, one of the staff came up to me, seeming uncomfortable, and told me that the manager had told her to tell me to move my things back into the Mat Room. No explanation, was given; nor, was it needed. That, 6-week-point, when someone's stay, in the shelter, suddenly shifts, to, something, unwelcoming, had arrived, for me, now. I went to my room, sat on the bed, and prayed, asking, God, what I should do. The VA still had not secured an apartment for me to move into. The last time they had been able to take me to look, the caseworker showed me the one that I ended up moving into, later, that summer, which, I had, turned down, when I saw it; holding out hope, for something, better, to become my next 'home' after being homeless. God's Spirit began to speak more clearly in me now, and once He started doing that, He continued to give me a perfect play-by-play of what would be happening to me, now. It was both, supernatural, and stressful, as He told me exactly what would happen day by day, and what I was to do about it. I just . . . trusted Him, and obeyed. One step, at a time. I let shelter staff know, I would not be going back into the Mat Room, and asked them, if that meant, that I had to now leave the shelter. The directive, from the bitchy manager, for me to go back to the Mat Room, was particularly unnecessary, because they had open beds in these bunk rooms, including 2 in the room I was now in. It just seemed to be a start to that making me feel, unwelcome, now, with a nod to my being liked by so many, there, which led to my being offered, the Mat Room, rather than, being put out altogether, like so many of the other women were at their 6-week-point there.

I was simply walking through it, step by step, doing exactly what the Lord's Spirit was saying within me to do. The staff member asked the manager about that and returned to tell me that, I could remain, in the bunk room, after all. The next day, though, this same manager, saw me walking past the office, and said, to me, in a sharp tone, that I needed to move my things, back to the Mat Room; that day! It was perplexing, and confusing, to me, why she would go back to saying that, this next day, after just saying, the day before, that I could remain, in the bunk room. I asked her if I had a little time before having to do that, though, and I went over to the shelter social worker, assigned to me, and told her what was going on. She walked back with me, to the women's shelter, and spoke to the manager about it. When she came out of the office, she told me that, I could, absolutely, stay in the bunk room and not move back to the Mat Room. It looked resolved in the natural realm, but God spoke to me, right then, and said, it was not over, yet. This social worker was a Christian, too, and we had talked with one another about the depth of our faith, so I told her what the Holy Spirit had just spoken in my spirit, before she left the shelter to go back to her office. She replied, she had fully resolved it, with the manager, and that there would be no more of them telling me to go back to the Mat Room from a bunk room. Then, she left, and the Holy Spirit told me, it would, happen, again, the next day, and that, when, it did, I was to leave, and to trust Him, with the details. It actually even happened again, later that evening of the second day that I had been told to go back to the Mat Room, when the social worker had come to talk to the shelter manager about it. I had been, about to go to bed, to be sure I was well-rested, since God had already told me that, it would happen, again, the next day. Despite, what, that social worker, believed, about it.

I was going down the hall toward my bunk room, passing the line of women who were lined up along the wall waiting their turn for their prescribed meds that the shelter kept together, in a locked room, when the hallway door suddenly opened, and one of the staff called out to me in front of all these other women telling me that I was to go to the Mat Room, to sleep, starting, that night. I was, surprised, and, frankly, quite touched, by, the reaction, of the long line of women, standing there, who raised their voices in protest, on my behalf, at the employee who had just said that, as I calmly said, "I will leave, the shelter, then, instead," and went to the bunk room, to brush my teeth at the sink in there. I heard a commotion in the hall as I was doing that and one of the women came into my room saying, "I will go to the Mat Room, Deb, and you can have my bed, in my bunk room, then. This is just bullshit! What they are doing. You stayed longer than anyone else, in the Mat Room, before, finally getting into a bunk room. This just isn't fair!" I told her that she didn't need to do that, because the Lord was telling me that I would be leaving anytime now anyway. I was a little apprehensive at the thought of my walking through the pitch dark, of late night, through, this, 'bad part of town', to leave, the shelter, tonight, because I had no car. I was a little thrown off, by this, happening again, that night, since God had already told me earlier this same day that it would happen, again, the next day, and that I was to leave, then. As I was just about to gather my things, to leave, the word came from the staff, yet again: I could stay in the bunk room. So, I did. I was calm throughout, because of God's Spirit, speaking to me, so clearly, and so constantly, throughout these three days.

It was amazing to watch, that unfolding, exactly, as He said, that it would. Except for this, extra, nighttime, threat, to my staying there; when, I showed that, I was still, trusting Him, enough to walk out of there, into the darkness, and danger, if I were asked to, by Him. I don't know if, God let that happen, unexpectedly, to test my faith, and that, is why, He didn't tell me, about that, coming at me, late night, or what, but, my faith, in God, was solid, by this point, in my life. I had no fear, in this situation, because, He made it clear, He, was, actually, totally, in charge, of it. When I was losing my apartment, putting my things into storage, and showing up at the homeless shelter for the first time in my life, I had perfect peace that I was in God's Will for me. I felt it strongly in my spirit, as I took each step by faith, one at a time. The Bible says of Christians that ". . . we walk by faith, not by sight." (2 Corinthians 5:7) People don't want to think that sometimes God asks His followers to do things that are difficult, but if you study scripture you know that this is true. God's Word says of God's omniscience, "You saw me before I was born. Every day of my life, was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out, before a single day had passed." (Psalm 139:16 NLT) It was, both, reassuring, and comforting, to me, that, nothing, I was going through, was, in any way, taking God by surprise. I just had to keep trusting Him. Even when, I didn't like, what was happening. Even when, I didn't understand, what was happening. One thing, I know, about God, is, He is a multi-tasker. He always has more going on in the background of the things that are happening in our lives than we can comprehend. He accomplishes several things at once, even when we may not be aware of that; at least, at first. He does not explain Himself to us either. God is God. He is sovereign. He is worthy of trust.


I think that He timed this to happen, to me, while the shelter manager that really knew me and respected me was on vacation, because sometimes our own human affinities can get in the way of God's Purpose and Plan for human lives-- ours and other peoples'. She would very likely have interfered to stop this from happening; but that would not have been, God's Will, for me, at this point. The next morning, the bitchy manager that was filling in for her saw me walking past and said to me in a very harsh tone, "Enough of this! You need to get your things and move back into the Mat Room. Today." I asked her if I could have just a little more time, and she grudgingly agreed to that. I used the time to go see the shelter social worker and give her my testimony as it was unfolding, that God had said this was when I was to leave, and because of that, the shelter manager (that, just the day before, this, social worker, had convinced, not, to do this, to me), was, insisting, that I go back, to the Mat Room. I thanked her, for her help, while I was there. We hugged, and as I prepared to leave her office she asked me, "Where will you go?" I replied that "God has not shown me that part yet. He has just told me to leave, so I will."

I went back to the shelter and found my friend who was staying in it with her dog.
She was outside on the back patio, sitting with a group of the women. I asked her quietly if she could come and help me, now, having prepared her beforehand, that God had been telling me, I would be leaving there soon. My faith was no secret to anyone at the shelter. Everyone there who knew me, knew my strong faith in God. I told her this was the day, and asked her if she could drive me to my storage unit in town, so that I could drop off all of my belongings, except what I could carry on me, in a backpack that I had. She got her car, while I got my belongings from the bunk room, and I stopped at the front desk on my way out the door to let the girl there know that I was leaving. She asked for a forwarding address in case of mail coming there, for me, but I told her that I didn't have one. That, as far as I knew, in that moment, I was going out on the streets. I was very matter-of-fact about it. The shelter administrator was out of his office, and had left his door open. I had a chance to leave a letter on his desk, which was a response from a wealthy Omaha businessman, to me, saying that, when the, new, shelter, was built (which, was in the works then) he would be happy to provide the new carpeting for it. I had sent him a letter, a couple of weeks before, telling him how threadbare the carpet was, and how it was, a tripping/safety hazard, especially, for the little children, staying there with their mothers, who ran up and down the halls in their, playful, way. He would have that letter-- signed by the prominent businessman-- to help when the time came. Then, I left without saying good-bye to any of the other women, since their caring about my situation, and their speaking out about it on my behalf, had been effective in temporarily delaying the inevitable, and I didn't want to risk that happening again now. God had made it, very clear, to me, that, this, was the day, I was to leave the shelter. I did not want, human, sympathy, to, get in the way, of my obedience. My friend-- and her dog-- drove me over to my storage unit where I had put all of my earthly belongings, except for the few things I took with me to the shelter 6 weeks earlier, and some things I had been given by the shelter while staying there, and I decided, what to keep, with me, in the backpack, and put the rest in storage. It was a beautiful summer day, in July. I had arrived at the shelter near the end of May. My friend told me that she was getting hungry, as it was now about lunch time, so I had her drive us to the nearby grocery store, where, I used my SNAP* EBT card, to buy us-- and, her dog-- a 'picnic' lunch, of chicken, potato salad, and other summer fare. Then, I asked her to drive us to a nearby city park, where we could sit and eat in peace and her dog could enjoy the grass and shade.


She had not asked me, "What next?", or "Where to, now?" She simply assumed I would want to go to one of the other shelters in the area so, after lunch, she took me to each one of them. I had no objection to that at all, as God had not told me what was to happen, now; so, going to another homeless shelter wasn't ruled out as disobedience, at this point, as far as I knew. She began to take me to them all. However, as we pulled into the parking lot of every, available, shelter, in turn, and she waited, while I went in, to ask, if there was space for me, there, she began to get extremely emotional, and she started crying and carrying on. She had faith in God, too, but her version of it was that, surely, God had one spot for me in one of these other shelters, if He loved me. It is a disservice that modern-day Christians are taught that God makes all the bad vanish in a puff of prayer because He loves us too much to allow us to suffer. The heart of the Gospel message is that God so loved the world, that He sent HIS only begotten SON, Whom He was well pleased with, to DIE, a PAINFUL DEATH, IN OUR PLACE, to pay for OUR sins. He SENT His Son, TO SUFFER AND DIE, when HE didn't DESERVE any of that, Himself. I heard the Holy Spirit tell me VERY CLEARLY, as we drove up to every single shelter, that they would not have room for me, there, because THAT WASN'T HIS WILL for me.

It amazed me, how STRONGLY, I HEARD Him, through all of this, seemingly, 'bad' stuff (from, a HUMAN, point of view). It was, almost, FUNNY, to me, except, that, my friend was getting so agitated, at this point, that she screamed at me, saying, "I DON'T BELIEVE YOU! There HAS to be ROOM, for YOU, in ONE, of these places! Did you REALLY even ASK them? I mean, you, tell me, EVERY SINGLE TIME, right when we pull up, to these places, that you ALREADY KNOW that they WON'T have room for you. HOW CAN YOU KNOW THAT?!? I think you're NOT EVEN ASKING IT. I'm, going in, MYSELF, and ask them!" Which, she did, as I stayed in the car, after they had already told me NO, at EVERY shelter; asking for God's Guidance, as the situation gained increasing clarity for me. ALL I KNEW at THIS point was that God had told me, today was the day I was to leave the shelter I was in, and I did that. Then, His Holy Spirit spoke inside me, every time, we arrived at all the other ones in town, and told me, EVERY SINGLE TIME, BEFORE, I even, GOT OUT of the CAR, that, there would be, NO ROOM FOR ME; until it became crystal clear that, 'There was no room in the inn', so to speak--much like Joseph and Mary went through at the birth of Jesus which we hear spoken of every Christmas season. I'm sure they thought, as normal human beings, that SURELY, God would PROVIDE A ROOM, for the woman whom, He had predestined, to give birth, to the incarnate Son of God!

       
When my friend came back to the car, after going in, herself, to ask if there was a place for me in their shelter, she looked incredulous, and began to get more upset than ever. She told me that, they had told her, the same thing, and that, she even asked them to call and check with the other shelters in town-- which we had been to, already, that afternoon-- saying that her friend was a female and was basically out on the street now, without someone having, or making, a place for me to stay, there. They made the calls, for her, but it was just as God's Spirit had been telling me. None, of them, would have an opening for me, because that wasn't where He wanted me, now. He had told me that VERY CLEARLY, BEFORE I had even gone in to ASK. Their telling me that was TRUE, was JUST MORE CONFIRMATION to me. I was now dealing simultaneously with a completely freaked out friend and my own understanding, which I accepted, that I was to totally trust in God, even while His solution for this situation (as far as my next step forward, that I was to take) was nowhere in sight; at least at the moment. It was nearly supper time and I did my best to calm my friend by firmly reassuring her that I was going to be just fine as  I kept my faith in God, and simply obeyed, what He told me. She was a Christian, after all, so I thought that, she could trust God, too. I also had other friends from my life before, the homelessness happened, to me, but I did not feel that I was to contact any of them, either. Clearly, this part, of my journey, was requiring that, I fling myself, in full faith, on God, alone, and allow, His relationship, with me, to be what, safely, sustained me, in this, otherwise stressful, time in my life. My shelter friend was crying so hard by this point that, I was concerned she would wreck her car. I asked her to take me to a branch of the Omaha Public Library, that I knew I could stay in until evening and the cover of darkness. She did, and I prayed, with her, asking God to strengthen her faith in Him, got some of the food I had bought at the grocery store earlier that day, to take with me, left her the majority of that, and I sent her on her way back to the shelter so she wouldn't miss the seating for supper in the cafeteria, there. Then, I went inside, the library, alone. It was much cooler in there than it was outside. We were in the middle of a summer heat wave at the time. I sat at one of the computers which were available for the public, and just surfed the internet, biding my time until dark. when the library would also be closing. I recall, taking a citizenship test, online, as I sat there, enjoying the relief of the air conditioning. It had been a long day and I was beginning to feel tired as I sat in the quiet of the library environment. I am a rather practical person, so I'd requested my friend drop me off, at this particular library location, for a reason. It was almost in view of the VA Medical Center. All I knew about that in the moment, was that, as a veteran, I had authorized access, to that building and its amenities.

I stayed as late as I could at the library, then I walked over to the VAMC, with my backpack on my back. I still had no idea, at all, where I would go, to sleep, and I was getting really tired, at this point. I'd already been through alot, that summer, and was in the midst of even more difficult life circumstances, coming at me, that  I had, no choice, but to, deal with, the best, that I could. Looking back, afterward, I realized God was intending for me to get the help that I needed from the VA but the VA social workers who were working on my case, to find me a decent place to live, using the HUD-VASH** housing voucher, they had obtained, for me, still had not shown me anything, that was available, that I had any enthusiasm to live in. I had seen some beautiful properties, with great amenities, which took the housing vouchers, but, of course, those were so coveted, that they were full, with lengthy, long-term, waiting lists. I had been holding out, for something better, than what I was being told by the social workers to just, settle for. But then, I hit that 6-week-mark, of staying in the shelter, which was when the 'Welcome mat' there began to be noticeably, and increasingly, absent, toward every woman, that was there, that long, except for those with their children. It was scary, and sad, to see them treat women, staying there, badly, at that point, and ultimately, running them off, from there, one way or another, as soon as they hit the unspoken-but-enforced 6-week timeline of staying there. Even if, I hadn't been, holding out, for a better place, to live, the apartment one of the social workers had shown me that was in such poor condition, which I ended up feeling like I had no choice, but to take (that I moved into, near the end of that summer) was not actually, available, to rent, yet, as the man who had been living in it, for several years, was still living in it, at this point; and when he did finally move out at the landlord's insistence, it needed extensive renovations, due to, its poor condition; before, being rented out, to a new tenant.

I would not know, until I moved into it, that the landlord had done very little to it, and rented it to me "as is" at that point, due to my desperate need for housing as a, homeless, veteran; clearly, taking advantage of me, in my situation. It took me several months, and alot of labor on my part, to make that into a decent place, to live. [https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2021/09/its-said-when-life-gives-you-lemons.html, which was also mentioned, at the beginning, of this post, goes into all of that.]  Being, literally, homeless, and out on the streets, and being so weary, from everything I was going through, it didn't occur to me to even explain my situation, to anyone at the VAMC, at the time, as I went there to wash up, brush my teeth, and use the bathroom before taking the bus downtown. I didn't even think that, a medical facility-- this, veteran's hospital-- COULD, help, with my situation. I would soon find out-- in a rather hard way-- that I was wrong about that. I was taking my situation a day at a time, now. I knew I could call the other shelters, each day, to see, if they had any openings. However, I am, a loner, by nature, who had just gone through a month and a half of having absolutely NO privacy, to speak of, in the homeless shelter, and my soul was screaming for some much-needed, alone, time, now that I was, finally, out of, that, environment, as of this very day, that I am describing. I didn't know, where I could get any privacy; I just knew that I needed that. Badly. More than anything else, that I could think of, at the moment. Also, although, God had been Guiding me, CLEARLY, every step of the way, HE had NOT told me to do that, then, either. I was more concerned that I hear, and obey, Him, than I was about getting the help that I obviously needed, in this situation. My walk with God is my life; and, at times, it is my 'adventure', too. That has always mattered more, to me, than even my own safety and comfort do.

While I was at the VAMC that night I went to the cafeteria to eat some of the food that I had gotten, earlier that day, with my SNAP card. There was no one in there, that late at night. I warmed up the food in the microwave, and was watching a TV that was still on, in the corner, as I ate. One man, came in to eat, at one point-- a shift worker, there, who was on his meal break. He chatted, with me, some, as he ate, and I remember, feeling, anxious, about him, seeing me there-- almost as if I had a sign posted on my forehead that said, in all capital letters, I AM HOMELESS!
I didn't tell him, though. I just wanted to leave and find some place where I could SLEEP, without babies crying at all hours, and women talking, and fighting, loudly, like there was, in the shelter. I thought about going down to the Old Market, to sit in a booth at Cubby's with a cup of coffee to try to stay awake, because nights on the street, would be the most dangerous, especially, for a slender woman like me. People have the luxury of thinking that bad things WON'T HAPPEN TO THEM, until or unless they do, finally happen to them, shattering that, false, sense of security.
I was long past having that feeling about my personal safety, after being raped by a stranger, in my early twenties, and going through domestic abuse, which, came close, to killing me, at times. I needed, somewhere, safe, to sleep, but I had very little money. What I did have, was mostly going to pay the storage unit where my belongings were. I desperately needed PRIVACY, and PEACE and QUIET, to SLEEP. 

Then, I realized, my storage unit had 24/7 security code access! I had chosen the floor there that was Climate Controlled, because I was concerned that, long-term, storage of my electronics, and make-up, and such, would cause them to melt and be ruined from the, relentless, summer heat. I left the VAMC, and caught the last, late, bus, downtown. I knew, that there were cameras in the building, because I'd seen images, from them, on a screen, in the office, there. But, I didn't see one, in that aisle, where my indoor storage unit was located. My unit, was also, very close to the air conditioner, that cooled that area of the building. Anyone could be in the building, at any time, that had the outside security code, to gain access; so I kept an eye out, for anyone else, that might be in there, as I entered the building, and opened the padlock that I had put on my storage unit door. It was metal and a bit noisy, as I raised it up, surveying the scene of stacked boxes of belongings, that I had placed in there 6 weeks earlier. I had put my couch, in there, last, meaning it was just inside the door. So, I found a couple of sheets, and a pillow, made up the couch to sleep on, took off my shoes, and closed the door, shutting me in there in the dark. I took off my glasses, and, felt around, in the dark, for a nearby box, to place them on, like a makeshift nightstand. It was a bit, claustrophobic, but, even so, it was blissfully quiet, and private, and I sighed contentedly, before falling fast asleep. It was the first, full, night, of solid sleep, I had been able to get, since the ordeal of losing my apartment around Memorial Day. I felt so happy, there, alone!

I had called the VA social workers before I left the shelter, to let them know that I was leaving the shelter, and that I would keep them posted, but because they are always busy with a full client load, it went to their voicemail. I made a point to be gone from the storage unit, before the woman who managed the site arrived, the next morning. She had shown compassion for me in the situation that I was in as  I rented the storage unit from her, offering to keep my houseplants in the window of her office, there, and take care of them, when I went into the homeless shelter.
I didn't want to risk problems with her, if she knew, I had just slept in my storage unit, which could possibly lead to her no longer caring for my houseplants. I could feel the heat of the summer day, setting in, early, as the heat wave, that we were in, wore on. I took a bus to the mall, which was air-conditioned, and large enough to keep me occupied, walking around for the day, until I could return to the sweet silence of the storage unit again, that night. I had my backpack with me, that had my basic necessities in it, in case something happened, which prevented me from staying in the storage unit. I didn't know, if the woman, who managed it, checked the security camera footage, or not, and if so, whether there, would be, a note, or something, to me, on my storage unit door, saying that, I couldn't stay in it again.

I was living a moment-to-moment existence, at this point. Anything, was possible at any time. Clearly, I, looked, like a, homeless person, now, because, when I was walking through the most upscale of all the department stores, in the mall, a man that worked there, in their shoe department, watched me, closely, with a horrified look, of pure disdain, on his face. He conveyed, to me, in no uncertain terms, that this, was not an environment, that, I belonged in, or was welcome in. I had never in my life been, reacted to, in this way, because, of, my, outward, appearance; by anyone. It taught me alot, about what people, that are less fortunate, than those, living a life of power and privilege, are seen as and treated like, in our society. He would never have believed me, if I had informed him that I actually used to be an employee in this very store, and that I HAD QUIT THEM and walked out BECAUSE of their snobby, superior-acting smugness, in that store in general, due to it being the, elite, anchor store, in this large mall. They had been incredulous, then, that I had actually REJECTED THEM, at the time, calling me to request my return, BUT I REFUSED. I had STELLAR Customer Service references, for which I was hired; but THEY weren't GOOD ENOUGH for ME, as an EMPLOYER, because of their, haughty, culture. I have NEVER BEEN ABLE TO STOMACH such people, that THINK they are BETTER, than other people, on this planet. We ALL, pee, poop, and die, the same.

Tiring, of walking around, Westroads Mall, at that point, I left, and walked over to Whole Foods Market where I used my SNAP card to buy some, delicious, gelato. I sat there in the air-conditioning, savoring every spoonful of that cool treat on this hot day. I also bought some blueberries, to take with me, for later. Summer bliss!  I felt SO RELAXED and HAPPY! Just having space to sit and be alone with my own thoughts, after, just coming out, of the environment, at the homeless shelter, was so luxurious, to me. I was at peace. MUCH-NEEDED, PRIVACY AND PEACE. It was WONDERFUL! I didn't lack for any, basic, thing, needed, to sustain life. I was also reasonably safe. I knew this city very well, and was sleeping in an air-conditioned controlled-access space, with no one else around. I was able to sleep undisturbed by others. MY DEEPEST NEEDS were BEING MET NOW. It was such a nice respite! When it got dark, I took the bus to the VA Medical Center, which, I was entitled to access, as a veteran, to wash up in a ladies' room there, again. Then, I went back
to the storage unit, for a second night, of sleeping there, in the peace and quiet. I
knew, I could call the shelters to see if there was an opening, but THIS JUST FELT, SO GOOD to me! I just wanted a few days to myself before I would probably have to go to one of the other shelters, since, the VA social workers, still had not found me a place to live, that seemed clean and decent-- and was actually available. I'd left them messages, letting them know that I was fine, and that I would try to get them on the phone another time since it always seemed to go to their voicemail. I woke up the next morning feeling so rested, and happy, after those two nights, of sleep in my storage unit. I hadn't told the social workers where I was, for obvious reasons, not the least of which, to ME, was that I deeply VALUED and NEEDED my privacy-- 'for a minute'-- in the midst of this summer of complete upheaval, in my life. But, they had heard my voicemails, in which, I sounded very happy, and safe.

The next day-- my third, since leaving the shelter, at God's very clear and specific direction-- I decided, to take the bus to the VAMC, during the daytime hours, eat, my blueberries, there, while sitting in the cafeteria, and use a phone there, to try, to reach my social workers, without it going to voicemail. I was, hoping that, they had, some word, on a, possible, place to live, for me, by now-- especially, since, I was no longer at the shelter. At the very least, I was hoping that one of them had some time, that day, to take me around to look for an apartment, that I could live in. I was glad to hear my main social worker's voice, answering her phone, rather than, it going to her voicemail, again-- which happened more times than not. She asked me, where I was, and I told her, that I was at the VA Medical Center, about to go up to the cafeteria, to eat. She said that she wouldn't be able to take me to look for a place to live, that day, which was, definitely, disappointing. But, I knew, that these social workers were helping alot of other homeless veterans, than, just me. I wasn't trying to be some, demanding, diva. I just needed a place to live; as soon as possible. After we spoke on the phone, I went up to the cafeteria and was sitting by a window, blissfully by myself, although, being, dayshift, at the hospital, there were, employees, and visitors, all over the place. I was just, looking out the window, enjoying the sunny day, from the comfort of the air-conditioning, making my plans for how I was going to spend the day, when this case worker, that I had spoken to on the phone a short time before, came rushing up to me, where I was just sitting, calmly, at the table, and she began to question me about where I had been, and so forth. I resented it, in the sense that, all, these social workers, were barely ever available, to me, as the weeks were, ticking by, while I was staying in the homeless shelter; and I had told them about the 6-week-thing, so, they knew.

Beginning to show her my irritation with her, I asserted that, she could clearly see that I WAS FINE-- healthy, safe, and well-rested. I was, also, an adult, that, made my own decisions, for MY life. Not to mention that, I LEFT the shelter because, for 3 days God had told me that I was to do that; and WHEN I was to do that-- AND I DID THAT. I did what HE told me to do WHEN He told me to DO IT. I was annoyed. I had REALLY NEEDED, and was, REALLY ENJOYING, the last couple of days, in the midst of, a LONG, HOT, HOMELESS, summer, that, I was living through, the best, I could, and now this almost-always-busy social worker was criticizing me for how it was going, directly due to the fact that, I STILL didn't have an apartment to MOVE to. They had only taken me to look for a place, a few times, in my 6-weeks, at the shelter, and either, showed me places that were full, with too long of a waiting list, for someone, in a, time crunch, at the shelter, or, nasty-looking, run down, places, that I had refused to live in, because, I had seen that much better places did take these housing vouchers. It was, what it was. I was, happy, and well-rested, at the moment, though. I didn't want to go into another shelter just yet. I needed peace.
 

She listened, to what I had to say, then expressed her concern, that, I was out in the heat, during this ongoing heat wave, which, wasn't good for me. I responded, that I knew the city well and how to stay in air conditioning, although I refused to tell her where I was staying at night. She told me that as my assigned, VA, social worker she was responsible for me as her client and that she would get in trouble with her supervisor, if she wasn't, taking care of me. I was a middle-aged, grown, woman, who had spent the majority of my life taking care of myself, so I bristled, at this statement that I needed a 'babysitter'-- even in this situation. I was doing fine, as far as meeting all of my basic needs. I figured I would get into one of the other shelters in a day or so, but not yet, because I was enjoying my summer for the first time, during, this current, couple of days, that, I had peace, and privacy, again. I pointed out to her that, she could CLEARLY SEE, that I was, CLEAN, FED, and WELL-RESTED; so, I was, OBVIOUSLY, ABLE TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. Then she started to scare me. We had a mutually respectful relationship, up until, THIS point, when she suddenly said to me, "Don't get mad at me." I narrowed my eyes and responded, "WHY, would I get MAD, at you? What, have you done?" She said, "After you called me, I arranged for you to be examined, here, at the med center, just to be sure that you are in good health. My supervisor would be mad at me, if  I weren't, making sure, that you are alright. So, I just need you to come with me, down to the ER, where, they can do, a quick exam, on you, to make sure you are doing okay, and then, you can go, and I won't be in trouble, for not taking care of you." I HATE MEDICAL EXAMS, so I wasn't happy AT ALL about this. I just wanted to go on with my day-- ALONE, IN PEACE. Reluctantly, and feeling angry, with her, I went, with her, down to the ER department. When, they called my name, I went back toward the exam rooms, and the nurse there, put the blood pressure cuff on me, and looking at me, asked me, "So, why are you being seen, today?" Although the social worker was standing right there, next to me, during this, she didn't say anything, and she, was the one, of the two, of us, that knew, why, I was, there. I really had no idea except what she had told me-- which was, a quick exam would be done on me, to make sure I was staying healthy, and then I would be released after that, to go on with my day, as planned. Answering the nurse, with a mixture of, uncertainty, and annoyance, in my voice, I replied that, 'I DIDN'T KNOW, WHY  I WAS THERE, but that this social worker, standing right here, had said that I had to get a quick exam before I could leave; although I WAS FINE.' The nurse looked at the social worker, then, for further clarification, but my caseworker just said, to me, then, "At least you'll be in the air-conditioning now", and she turned, and left.

After the nurse took my vital signs, she sent me to one of the ER exam rooms, to wait to be seen by the doctor that the VA social worker said, had to look me over, to be sure I was staying healthy, before I could go on my way. I had things, I had wanted to do, that day, and I felt frustrated and annoyed by this development. As one patient after another was seen, while I was still just sitting there, with no one coming in to get this exam over with, I tried to contact my social worker, who had taken me to the ER, to get further clarification from her, but each time I had tried, it just went to her voicemail. Having worked in nursing in a hospital setting, I was well aware of their having to triage patients, coming into the ER, and, a check-up, for my overall healthiness, would be at the very bottom of that list, of patients, to be seen. Even so, several hours, passed, with me, sitting, in that exam room, and then, pacing, in that exam room, and finally, feeling, really, agitated, in that exam room. I had tried calling another VA social worker, that had been working with me on finding an apartment, but my call, to her, explaining to her, what was going on, and telling her that, I was extremely, frustrated, and confused, at this point, went to her voicemail, as well. That wasn't unusual in itself, with these busy advocates, but when I then began to ask the ER staff about the situation, and why the doctor had not been in to do the quick check-up on me, that the social worker said I had to have, before leaving, none, of them, seemed to have any information, at all, to offer me. I considered just leaving, but I was trying to be cooperative, since I was depending on the assistance of the social worker who brought me down to the ER, to get housing. I began to get hungry, and asked staff if they had a snack, I could have, which they brought me. Still, no one, was telling me, anything, at all, about what was going on. By this time, I was beyond, frustrated, to, angry, and anxious. I spoke with a man who worked in that department, asking him, to call, my social workers, to find out what was going on. Nothing came of that, either. I was in the ER for about 6 hours or so, before the betrayal became clear, in a, terrifying, way.

A uniformed deputy, in full police attire, including, a holster on his hip, with a gun in it, eventually entered my exam room, carrying some papers. (I just, teared up, typing that, because, I can, still, feel, the anger, and the terror I was put through, that day.) I was sure that he was in the wrong room. Perhaps he was there to see another patient, that had come in after a DUI, or some such, criminal, behavior. I couldn't believe it when he walked up, to me, and handed me alot of legal-looking forms, which I wasn't familiar with, and couldn't understand. My name, was listed on them, but I had no idea WHY!?! I read and re-read them, several times, trying to comprehend what they were saying. None of this made any sense at all, to me, and it was very frightening. I felt so alone. I had, gone into a kind of shock, when this, armed officer, had come up to me, and had served these legal papers on me. I wasn't a criminal. I hadn't done anything wrong! It was hurtful to see words, on these legal documents-- that were signed by my VA social worker!-- saying that I was 'a danger to myself and others'. NO ONE that KNEW ME would EVER say that about me. It wasn't true, at all! I called over, that man, that worked in the ER, to come back into my exam room. I was crying now as I asked him if he knew what these papers meant. He just looked at me with an expression of absolute pity but told me nothing. I tried, yet again, to reach-- any-- of the VA caseworkers on the phone, but, every, attempt I made, to contact them for clarification, went to their voicemails. I had no idea, what, was going on. I had no idea, what to do. Then, a nurse finally came into my exam room; the first medical personnel that had been in there all day. They instructed me to remove all my clothes and put on a pair of hospital pajamas. They took away my backpack. Then, a law enforcement officer, that worked at the medical center, came into my exam room (also wearing a gun) and told me, he was there to escort me, up to the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit, of this veterans' facility. I suddenly realized, that I was basically taken hostage, in a sense, against my will, and that, there was nothing, at all, that I could do about it. I had been lied to, by my social worker. I had been conned. It was what it was.


I have always been, a realist, bottom line, because I have had to deal with ALOT OF SHIT, that OTHER PEOPLE have PUT ME THROUGH, in my life. As this, armed, officer, 'escorted' me, up a back elevator, straight into the psych ward, which had locked doors, and no escape from it, I felt shell-shocked. I had to, suddenly, shift gears, so much, mentally, that it took all I had to adjust, in real time, to this new reality that was now my life; whether I liked it or not. I was, equally, traumatized and curious, about this new experience that I had been thrust into, feeling a little like, Alice in Wonderland, falling through the looking glass, and finding herself, in the midst of the Mad Hatter's tea party. A male nurse, apparently, well-informed, that I was, not only homeless, but had just been, 
basically, on the streets, did an extremely thorough physical exam, to be sure I wasn't bringing bedbugs into the unit. He ran an EKG on me, commenting, afterward, as he scanned the print out, that it showed my atrial fibrillation, that I have intermittently. NO DOUBT! In this situation, I was relieved, that it didn't show an outright HEART ATTACK! After the thorough physical exam, he said that, it was almost time to eat supper. I was led to a dining room, within the unit, where there were other veterans, also, in these hospital pajamas who were obviously patients themselves. We were all seated at small tables around the room where we got trays from the kitchen with our meal on them. I was given a form to fill out for each meal from then on out during my stay, but this one was not of my choosing (nor, was ANYTHING, happening to me at the moment) so, I didn't eat all of it, even though, I have, a big appetite, for a slender woman. As I took my tray up to the staff, afterward, I said to them, that, "I wouldn't give people, who are in the psych ward, melon, like this." They asked me, why, and I responded, with, a slight, smile, looking them straight in the eye, "Because, it might make them, MELON-choly." I didn't want to BE there. I wasn't AT ALL happy, about what was happening, to me-- against, my will-- right now. I was, JUST GOING TO BE 'ME', though, and let it, sort itself out. I was MAD. I was SCARED. But, I have a STRONG SENSE OF SELF, and, a DEEP FAITH IN GOD, and although, it pains me, at times, especially if real heartbreak happens for me, due to whatever it is, I have a firm grasp of reality, accepting it, as best I can, as it is.


After supper, some of us, watched some TV, in the lounge area, and when, it was almost bedtime, they gave us all a snack of our choice from a cart, and then had us line up, at a Med Room window, for our meds. I have always been into holistic health, and part of that philosophy about my healthcare means that, I don't take any medications, even, over the counter ones, for anything; unless, I really need to. Because my annual physical check-ups were at this veteran's facility they had regular aspirin, and Bendryl for my allergies, on file, as my meds. Those were all. Just those. As with the social workers, the nursing staff, was also into 'overkill', if  it made them look like, they were doing their job, fully, in taking care of us. I am very independent, and don't need, or want, alot of overseeing of or interfering in my life choices that I know work best for me. So, I stood my ground, politely but firmly, when the Med Room nurse told me, I would at least be taking a Benadryl, because that was on file as my med, but I told her that I would not be doing that because I wasn't having any sniffles, runny nose or congestion from my allergies at that time, and I only medicate myself if I really need to do so. Because the VA had taken my freedom of movement out of my hands that very day in fact, I was concerned that they would continue to impose their will over my own, for my life, in everything, to do with this situation, that I was in now; but they didn't do that. 

Each night as they lined us up I would take in a deep, clear, breath in front of the nurse, at the Med Room window, to show them that I didn't need the Benadryl at that time; if I didn't. Eventually, they got it changed, to PRN, for me, so, my only taking it when I needed it matched the doctor's orders about it, which kept them out of trouble for all the times that I refused to take it (which was far more often than not). The first few nights, they tried, to convince me to take it, because it is also a sleep aid. They said-- especially, that, first night, that I was there-- clearly, against my will, because I had apparently been legally committed, for a full psych eval, by my social worker-- that, it would help me to sleep. I replied that, I never had any trouble, at all, sleeping, unless it was really noisy, like it had been in the homeless shelter. Then they led me to what was going to be my room in the unit, telling me that the small window in the door was so that they could check on me, throughout the night, to be sure that I was in fact sleeping. I smiled at the nurse who took me to my room and unlocked the door, which was, always, kept locked; looking wistfully out the window for a few moments at the city below that I knew so well, trying not to cry or give in to panic, because my freedom, and autonomy, had been, taken, from me. Then, lying down on the bed and, immediately, falling asleep-- on my own; without medication-- because no matter what is going on in my life, or where I am at any given moment, I ALWAYS KNOW that GOD IS WITH ME, and that NOTHING SUPRISES HIM, and that, MY trust is in HIM, at ALL times. [My situation, rather reminded me of how the Apostle Peter reacted to being held against his will, but choosing to keep his faith in God strong and sure in the midst of that. The account of this is in Acts 12 of the Bible. Peter, was sleeping, soundly, under circumstances similar to mine. Totally, trusting, that he was in God's care.]


I had that large room to myself, during my stay there (incarceration, if you asked me), because they tried to provide each veteran their own, space, and privacy, as much as possible, and the large majority, of the veterans, in this psych unit, were males. There was only one other female veteran in the unit, while I was there. I'd been drawn to the med center ever since I had obeyed God and left the homeless shelter; staying in the storage unit because I was in such dire need of peace, and privacy, that being out on the street, in order to have that, was preferable, to me, to going into another shelter, at that point. It was clear, to me, now, that God had orchestrated this situation, for my benefit, but had not told me this was coming. I did not have an apartment, to call home, yet, but I was no longer in the homeless shelter, and now, I had more of what I had, deeply, needed. Needed, to the point, that, I had been willing, to stay, out on the streets, to have, those things. Privacy. Peace. Nothing is all good or all bad, in my life on this fallen planet, but I am able to be grateful, for the good things, even in the most trying of circumstances; and that, is a very important thing, to be able to do. That doesn't mean that, I wasn't, very, angry, at my social worker, who had ambushed me, in this, extreme, way. It just means that I, totally, believe that, everything about my life, is known to God, and that, He, is the One, who, ultimately, works, all, things together, for my good, because I love Him, and am called, according to, His, purpose, for me, in this life.

On the one hand, because I have a sense of humor that serves me fairly well alot of the time, I could say that, there were worse things, than being around a bunch of guys, all day, who were wearing pajamas. We had so much fun together, that it felt like, a Pajama Party, at times, there, in the Psychiatric Intensive Care Unit, of, the Omaha VA Medical Center. We shared some good times, in the midst of rather depressing circumstances. A tall, handsome, Native American, vet (the names, of these people, are withheld, for privacy reasons), was an amazing artist! He drew, a, special, picture, for me, once, and slid it under the door of my room, for me to find, when I went to bed that night. He had been admitted to try to kick a serious drug addiction. Another guy in there had been admitted on a Suicide Watch, after driving his pickup truck into the woods, and calling his wife from there, on his cell phone, to ask her whether she wanted to have his funeral with an open, or closed, casket, so he would know, which way, to shoot himself, to end it all. I was his first friend, in the hospital. The first one, to reach out, and simply shake his hand, and introduce myself, making a human connection back to reality, that he literally and figuratively grabbed hold of, and which started him on the long path back to living his life again. When he was admitted he was in such poor shape mentally the staff wouldn't even allow him to have the door to his room closed and they removed all but the barest necessities in there. Because I was, generally, so open and friendly, the nurse, that saw me, walking toward him, in the hall, a couple of days after, he had been admitted, with a smile on my face, and my hand, extended, toward him, took me aside, and said to me that, he wasn't nearly ready, for any social contact. The Holy Spirit, had just told me otherwise, however, and I trusted THAT, so when he was walking past me, I did go ahead and greet him. As his eyes met mine, and he introduced himself to me, in return, he looked relieved, and was more relaxed. 

After that, he started opening up with all the other vets there, steadily improving, and soon becoming himself again. We became fast friends. The kindness softened the sad, and stressful, situation, that he was in, and he FELT, and RESPONDED, to that. One vet had his birthday while he was in there, and I couldn't imagine being in there on such an occasion, away, from his family, and friends, who were, in the outside world. I had the vet who was an artist design a birthday card, just for this other vet, then I asked all the patients, and staff, to sign it, and we gave it to him at the morning meeting. We had sessions, that we had to attend, as a group, and as individuals, with the doctors and staff. I was so full of energy, and exuberance, that I looked at them like THEY were CRAZY, when they had to ask me, as part of the Care Protocol for psychiatric patients each and every day, at least once a day, if I had any thoughts of harming myself. I am, SO FULL OF LIFE, and SO IN LOVE WITH LIFE! I take as careful care of myself as I can, because I want to live a long and healthy, and happy, life, as much, as possible. There have, only been, 3, very brief, fleeting moments, in my life, when, that thought, even crossed my mind. It happened after I had transferred custody of my baby boy Jay, after being his sole caregiver, for the first 13 months or so of his life, to give him, a better life, than I could have given him, and my, narcissistic, mother was making sure I felt blamed for all the things, that were happening, as a result, of that grief, in my life, on top of all that pain that I was feeling in my soul. The second time the thought crossed my mind was when I was in my last, very abusive, marriage to a narcissistic man, I call, 'the son of Satan', when, he had worn me out, with the, constant, cycles of abuse, and I didn't see a way out at the time. The third time was from something that I will likely write about in a future blog post, about the damage to someone's life that bullying does. I have been dealing with this issue, for the last 10 months. Apparently, it doesn't just happen to children, in junior high school, because folks in their, 60s, 70s, and 80s, are capable of acting like they're in junior high school. 

There was an Army veteran, there, that looked like Jesus, who was psychotic, and prone to sudden fits of, very aggressive, rage, when he would, physically, lash out at staff members who were trying to subdue him. It was very unsettling to me, to hear him, when he had those episodes, before, they tranquilized him, again. One, night I was in bed, almost asleep, when I heard someone turning the door handle to my room, but not coming in. Of course, I assumed that, it was the night nurse, although they didn't ever actually come in, to the room, at night, to check on me. They would just peer at me, through the window, in the door, to make sure I was alright. So, it did seem strange. Not long after, I heard the night nurse screaming at someone in horror. It was, the lookalike 'Jesus'. He had, left his room, after his last tranquilizer had worn off, and was trying, to get into other patients' rooms, to act out his aggression toward anyone available. Apparently, after, trying, MY door, he had found another guy's door cracked, right across the hall, from me, and had promptly gone in there and beat the guy up, rather badly, who had been sleeping peacefully before being attacked. I would, very likely, have been, beaten, by him, and/or raped, if my door hadn't been securely locked. I shuddered, to think about it. I had once expressed frustration to the nurse that I always had to go find some staff member, just to have them unlock my room, so I could, go into it. They kept mine locked at all times, no matter what. The only other female patient in the unit had been discharged, soon after I arrived, so I was the only female patient on the floor until another one arrived just as I was being discharged. Only two other men in this psych intensive care unit seemed to, actually, be 'crazy'. One, was a meek- looking, middle-aged man that had been arrested and brought there by the police after his neighbors called the cops on him, because he had actually been shooting at their house! When the police had arrived on scene he told them he thought the Lord was telling him to KILL THEM, because they were ASIAN, and therefore were OF THE DEVIL (which, if anyone, ever, reads, that statement, and thinks, in, ANY, way that it is TRUE, SOUND, thinking, then, YOU ARE CRAZY TOO). Maybe Karma was at work, here, because, he happened to be the one that 'Jesus' beat up, after getting into his room, that night. I had a chance, to talk, with this man, at length, one day, which is how I learned what he was in there for, and after having studied scripture, extensively, I tried to take him through the Bible verses that, rationally, explained, to him, why the Lord would not ever tell him to kill these other people. 

I wasn't sure, at the time, that, anything, I said, to him, would pierce through his muddled thought processes, but, apparently, it did help to some extent. He spoke in a way that sounded, much more grounded, and rational, at his next, individual, psychiatrist appointment, according to accounts. Since he was making progress, I was concerned that he would be set back, when a new male patient was admitted to the unit and was sitting with him at breakfast the next morning when someone that he hadn't seen on TV for a long time suddenly appeared on the screen. I had a mouth full of oatmeal that I spewed out in shock when this other guy exclaimed "SPEAK OF THE DEVIL!!!" I didn't want him to get that guy going, again, about killing people, that he perceived as being "of the devil". The other, crazy-seeming, guy, had been a former Navy Seal. He was, brought in, late one night, waking me up, with his screaming, at the staff, at the top of his lungs. I was very reactive, to that sound, of a very angry man screaming at someone, because of, my husband, from my last marriage, acting like that, so often, while, he was abusing me. So, I didn't like being anywhere around this guy, at all. If he was in the room, I was in, he would start being a real braggart; really full of himself, and loud about it. So, I would go into another room, with a puzzle book, and work on solving puzzles, for something to do, in between appointments, assessments, and group sessions. He would find me, eventually, and come to wherever I was. Not saying a word to me (because he knew I was avoiding him), he would simply start doing pushups, and other strenuous exercises, right in my line of sight, making heavy breathing noise the whole time, like he was having sex. I always just left the room, and went into some other one. I really felt harassed by him, doing this, to the point that I made a complaint to the staff about it, and then they saw for themselves, how constant it was. The rest of the people, were in there for drug addictions that had wrecked their lives and needed to be dealt with, and a couple of the guys were in there for severe depression. One of which was the one that had been suicidal when he was first admitted, and the other one was the guy we made the birthday card for, who grew despondent, when his long-time girlfriend moved out and left him. As far as  I knew, based on feedback from the doctors and staff, I had alot of anxiety, and I suffer (still) from a certain amount of OCD which DOES affect my everyday living. I was never given any psychiatric drugs, then, or ever, for any condition, however. I am sure that they would have prescribed those, if they had thought it necessary.

I was also there because the VA social worker knew I didn't want to go back into a homeless shelter, and they had no better alternative to house me in, than this, for the time being. It was, much, better, as far as, what it offered, to me, that I most needed, in an environment, being, who I am, as a person, than the shelter, full of people, had been, where, there was, no peace, and no privacy. Ever. 24/7. When, my caseworker showed up one day at the hospital, to see me, after waiting a few days, thinking that, I would calm down, from her, violating, my trust, by, lying, to me, after I saw that it was a much more pleasant alternative for me to be housed in, for now, she did not, get, the reception, from me, that, she had hoped for. She wanted to take me into a room, alone, with her, to speak, in private, which I flatly refused to do. Instead, I told her, with a firmly set jaw, due to my extreme anger, at her, that I would only talk to her, sitting out in the open, in front of the nursing staff, and the office staff, for the unit. She tried to make light of it with small talk, but, I was DONE, with her, after how, traumatized, I was, by her, actually, having me COMMITTED against my will with a LEGAL form which STATED (and was, also, SIGNED BY HER) that, I was, 'a danger, to myself, and others', which, SHE KNEW, WASN'T TRUE. I never forgave her for how she handled that and requested a new caseworker, from then on, REFUSING, to EVER deal with HER, again. My TRUST in her, had been DESTROYED. TRUST, is VERY IMPORTANT, TO ME. That may be how the social workers operated, in order to 'help' their clients, but it, ALSO, DID REAL DAMAGE, to me, adding EVEN MORE, NEW, DEEP, TRAUMA, to my life, than what I had ALREADY been through, and was GOING THROUGH, when she did this, to me.

The thing that she used, as 'evidence', to get me committed, was, also, one of my most precious experiences, and memories, in my whole life. I described that, holy encounter, in the blog post listed below. It was such a sweet, sacred, moment that showed me, in a profound way, how much Grace God extends to us though we are all sinners. This social worker had taken me to her office building, one day, when I was first assigned to her as a client, to do an, extremely lengthy, in-depth, intake, on me. The whole way through that she stressed to me how very important it was that I be, completely, honest, with her, so that she would be best prepared to help me find, suitable, Section 8, housing, to end, my homelessness. I'm a very honest person anyway; much more, than most people, ever have the courage, to be; and
believe me, IT TAKES REAL COURAGE, to be, AUTHENTIC, and TRUTHFUL, in THIS world. She, must have asked me, at least, a couple of hundred questions, picking, away, at, every, single, aspect, of my life, and, who I was, as a person-- including, the most private things, about me. Even for someone who is as open, and honest, as I am, it was, BY FAR, the most difficult INTERROGATION that I have EVER been PUT THROUGH. Even, my, security clearance, questionnaire, when I was in the Air Force, was not as, intrusive, or as, invasive, as, THIS, thing, that, she had put me through, was. When she had gotten to the question, 'Have I ever killed someone?' I first answered no; but then, thinking about it more, I changed my answer to yes I did. Once. And then, I told her about my abortion. I have never, forgiven myself, for doing that. I considered it, murder, of a helpless, unborn, child. I was sobbing, as, I told her, about it. It was, clearly, traumatic, for me, to share, that, with, her. 

I also told her about the Vision of Jesus that I had been blessed with seeing, later that day, which was the exact thing that kept me from forever turning away, from God, because of feeling like I had committed an unforgivable sin and couldn't face Him, after that. That very Vision--  that, great, merciful, gift, of God, to me-- that awful day, was what she used to have me committed, saying in the paperwork, at the courthouse, she went to, that I needed to be committed because I stated that 'I had seen Jesus and said that He tapped me on the back'. The VA social workers had a large caseload, and they sought to make the sluggish system work for their clients, who were homeless, as expeditiously as possible. But, twisting something, into a traumatizing solution, was not something that I appreciated, being done, to me. It was a situation where, they justified, the means, they used, to get the end result. It ended up, harming me, as much as it helped me; just in, different ways. That Vision happened when I was in my late twenties, by the way. I was 61 years old, when she used that, to have me committed to a mental ward against my will. That's a real stretch. Even though, she was trying, to help me, by what she did to me, I don't keep relationships, in my life, with anyone, that I can't trust anymore.

The full account of that Vision of Jesus I had is included in the following blog post:

When the social worker had suddenly showed up at the hospital that day, where I was currently, COMMITTED, because of her, I had only ONE thing, to say, to her. I got a piece of paper and a pen from the staff who were right there witnessing the entire encounter, so that, she couldn't say something else about me, which would be misleading, that could, possibly, keep me in there, even longer, than, the days that I had to stay there, for a, lengthy, evaluation, and observation, period, and I wrote down the address, of the apartment that the other social worker had taken me to see, most recently, that I had turned down, because of its poor condition. I handed that address to her and said "Since I obviously can't go out looking for an apartment, anymore, while, I'm stuck in here, take the housing voucher, that you have, for me, and just slap it on, this, apartment rental so that I will have a place to live, after I get out of here. That is all, I have to say, to you." And, I walked off.

The landlord of that apartment had a cycling accident, injuring himself, enough to need to wear a neck brace, for awhile. So, I would have an even longer wait, than it already was, to get into that apartment, which, I didn't even want, to start with. I took it, when I felt, I had no other choice, but to settle for it, and make the best of a bad situation. >sigh< In the meantime, I could not continue, to stay, where I was, in the psychiatric intensive care unit, because the bed was needed, for other patients, who actually, really required, that level of care. So, they sent me over to a live-in program, on, the other side, of the same, hospital, floor, that, I had been on, that taught coping skills for dealing better with life. When they offered that to me, I took it, because, I did not want to go into a shelter, which was now my only other option, and I figured, it couldn't hurt, to learn some things, that, I may not, already know, about dealing with the stressful situations, in life, better. Once I got over there, I had alot more personal freedom, too. I was in a locked ward, when I had first arrived, and could not leave that floor, at all. The doctors had even come there, to talk with us. Everything, we did, was limited to that area of the hospital, alone. I often stood at the windows, looking out, at the beautiful summer, passing me by, outside, while, I was stuck inside-- against my will-- in that, confined area.

Now, in the residential program, I could go outside, anytime, I wanted to, as long as I stayed on the hospital grounds. They did let me take the bus downtown, long enough to pay my storage unit fee, and then return, to the live-in program, at the medical center. Each day, I had classes to take on various helpful skills, like doing biofeedback, meditation, relaxation therapy, social skills, that helped us cope with stressful situations, and more. We ate our meals in our own dining room, there. It was a more even number, of male, and female, veterans, in this program. We also were able to wear our regular clothes-- jeans and such-- which was nice. I was so glad, to, finally, have, my tweezers, back, to be able to groom my brows, without, being, supervised, by a nurse, while doing that, after they were, taken away, from me, in the psych ward, as standard procedure, due to being considered potentially harmful to myself or others. On the weekends, we were taken on outings, that the VA paid for, to places like the zoo, or an upscale pool hall. We played each other in ping pong and wii bowling, laughing and bonding with our newfound friends. Since I do like to have, more private moments, than many people seem to, I sometimes slipped away, going downstairs to the main floor of the medical center to sit in the chapel, there, and read a devotional, or pray, or simply, work on my homework, in the quiet space, it provided me. Sometimes, the chaplain would come through, on the way, to, or from, his office, and stop, to chat with me, for just a few moments.

One day, the new social worker, that was assigned to me (after, I made it clear, to the VA, that, I would NOT accept, working with, the one who had LIED to me, and had me, COMMITTED, anymore) suddenly showed up at the hospital, to find me in the dining room, at lunchtime. She told me that the landlord of the apartment was suddenly saying that he needed me to come right away and sign the lease, or else he would give the apartment to somebody else to move into. That was strange, to me, because, he had my cell phone number, and had not contacted me, to choose the swatch for my new carpeting, that he had promised me, when I had viewed it, with him, while I was staying in the homeless shelter, weeks earlier. He met me at the apartment. When I arrived, I realized that, there was no, new, carpeting. This man, was not going to be, a man of his word, from the very beginning. He was, a jerk, the whole four years, that I had to deal with him, as my landlord. Even so, I needed, a place to live, and after looking, for most of the summer, unsuccessfully, I realized that, it was going to, have to be, this one. Like it or not. Then I went to the hospital to let the program manager know that I was leaving, to move into an apartment, that day. She wanted me to stay, a bit longer, to finish the program, I was enrolled in. But, I needed to get my things out of storage before the next bill for that came due, because I was out of money to pay for that, anymore. 'Moving Veterans Forward' helped me get my things out of storage and into my apartment and the housing voucher, from the VA, completely covered the rent, until I had an income, again. Then, it still helped, some, as, a prorated amount, of each month's rent. What it was like for me living in that apartment for 4 years, was described in a previous post which I provided the link to at the beginning of this post. God met my needs the whole way through that difficult, and sometimes daunting, summer. It wasn't easy. None of it was. But, in the mix, of some, good, and bad, times, He worked everything out. All I really did was just trust Him, and hold on for the ride.

* SNAP EBT card - The Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) is the largest federal program aimed at combating hunger and food insecurity among low-income Americans. Sometimes referred to as food stamps, SNAP benefits are transferred to needy families through EBT debit cards, which can be used to purchase food items in retail stores. EBT: Electronic Benefit Transfer (a system for issuing welfare payments electronically by means of a payment card that recipients use to make purchases).

** HUD-VASH - HUD-VASH is a collaborative program, between HUD and VA, that combines HUD housing vouchers with VA supportive services to help Veterans who are homeless find and sustain permanent housing.