Explosions in the Dead of Night

A loud explosion sounded and the room lit up. I woke up, and my foggy brain tried to make sense of what was happening. There were thunderstorms in the forecast, but it didn't seem to be thunder and lightning. I decided to ignore whatever it was and return to sleep. At 4:45am I was awakened again. There was a loud "thud", then an explosion of light with sparks descending. The sound seemed to be coming from right outside my window. I decided that a branch must have fallen from a tree on top of the street light, breaking it and causing sparks. I tried to get back to sleep, but at 6 am there was another explosion. This time the sparks seemed to be on our upper story window and I woke Mark up, thinking the house might have been struck by lightning and was on fire. I looked out and saw Arnetta and another woman on the sidewalk. They weren't running away, so obviously there was no fire.

At this point I figured I would get up, go outside and see what was happening. Two guests were sleeping on the sidewalk at either side of the house, but there were no branches or pieces of glass. I put the Inn's garbage out on the street, then went into the Inn to move the wash. Later I returned to fold the towels and aprons. Fr. Michael came in for morning Mass, and remarked on the last explosion. I said maybe it was the light on the pole or a transformer exploding. Of course, if it was the transformer there would be no power, so that seemed a poor explanation.

Up the chapel, I got the true story. According to Arnetta, who had been out on the sidewalk all night, someone had been driving by and throwing lit fireworks at the sleeping guests. Father Michael chastised me for starting rumors about broken lights and transformers, and why did I think that was the source of the sound and light anyway? I told him that in the world I come from, when a loud explosion occurs followed by lots of sparks, it is either a lightning strike or an exploded transformer. Of course, I am not in that world.

I later learned that the homeless in the neighborhood are the target of groups of teens during the warmer months. Some of the boys have ridden by on their bicycles armed with baseball bats and strike at the sleeping guests. Sometimes they have thrown rocks or other objects at them. I asked if anyone cared, and the response was "We care." I remarked I was thinking more about law enforcement. Of course, it is difficult to get a license plate number from a bike, and in the dark it is hard to identify a perpetrator. "Where are their parents?" I persisted. Brother Xavier is always telling me in his Yoda-like manner that we have to remember that parental responsibility often disappears when the children are quite young and the kids are left to their own devices. They look to other units of support, and gangs are one way to feel like a family. Of all the experiences I have had so far, I find this the most upsetting because it is premeditated cruelty.

Socks for the Homeless

The snow from last weekend's storm was just starting to melt, but now we have been hit with another major storm. Last Saturday, the 28 inches of snow was dry and powdery. However, today the new foot of snow is very heavy and wet. As a result, the homeless are getting very wet feet. Since they do not have access to washers or dryers, and since the shelters only open at night, these homeless people have wet socks that rub on their feet, resulting in severe blisters.
Today I met a man named Michael in this situation. I had him remove his socks, which I threw away, and dry his feet thoroughly. We put bandaids on all his blisters, then gave him dry socks. I gave him plastic bags to tie over his socks, and then he put on his shoes. Unfortunately, this was at noon. He would be out in the snow until 5 pm when he could enter a shelter. I gave him one more pair of dry socks to use the next day.
Because of Michael's story, Mark decided that we would give each guest at dinner tonight a pair of dry socks. We have 9 volunteers from St. Francis Parish in Raleigh, NC with us this week, and they sorted through socks, putting together a bin of clean socks to give away. We see it as such a small gesture, but one that has major consequences.

Who is at the Door?

Yesterday evening I had office duty during the meal. It can be a relaxing job, with time to read or check email. On the other hand, it can be quite hectic, with the phone ringing, the doorbell ringing, guests wanting to use the phone and guests needing their mail checked. I like the job because it allows me to speak to guests one-on-one, and at the same time gives me something a little more challenging to do than chop onions.



The first guest of the evening was K., who was using our phone to subscribe to telephone service for himself. He was having the same problems many of us have experienced--an extensive menu, then "for____ push 1, for ___push 2, etc." When he finally reached a living, breathing representative, he was having trouble understanding the directions and could not write down the information quickly enough. I could tell he was getting increasingly frustrated. To add to his stress, there were 3 other people waiting to use the phone. I could relate to his situation, having tried to do something similar, but to compound the issue, K has been diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic. Consequently, he became very agitated during the call in a way others might not be.



K. was followed by a young man who had resolved to leave town and get away from the life on the street that was wearing him down. He said he was going to Maine, but he desired to call a few people that had helped him during the past 3 years. He wanted to call his church and tell someone his decision, but was unable to find the phone number. I tried to help him with the phone directory, but the listing was not available. He left, resolving to go by in person the next day.



The next person I met was Felicia. She is very ill with liver disease, and recently was released from a rehab facility. I noticed when she came in that she was not wearing any gloves. I offered her a choice of pink, white or red gloves, and she giggled like a young girl when she selected the pink gloves. She stayed at the Inn to have a hot dinner.



I did not know the name of the next guest, but I have seen him several times at our morning service. He was calling his daughter. He obviously cared about her a great deal, and spent some time inquiring about her day and how things were going at school. At the end of the call he told her he loved her, and reminded her to pray, not just for things she wanted, but for all the needy people of the world. His daughter stays with her grandmother, and the guest spent some time talking with his mother as well. It was obvious that he wanted the best for his daughter, and that he was moving to a healthier stage in his life. He seemed to have spiritual strength that I have observed in many of the recovering addicts and alcoholics that come to the Inn.



There were other guests that evening that came for mail, aspirin, gloves and food. Some were curt and rude, but most were appreciative and left saying "God bless you." I think He did.

2 Phone Calls

"Sister, I need to make a telephone call. Can you help me?" The elderly man held out a folded piece of paper. I opened it, reading a letter from a daughter to her father. She had not had contact with him for 10 years. Somehow she had gotten his address and gave him her phone number. He wanted to talk to her.
I dialed her number, and miraculously, she picked up on the first ring. I handed him the phone, and a big smile filled his face as he said, "This is your father." They spoke for a few minutes in Spanish, and he ended with a promise to call her again soon. As he left, I remarked that is had seemed like a happy call. He said yes, he had not wanted to tell his daughter the turns his life had taken and the hard times he had fallen on. I added that a Dad was important to a daughter and I hoped that he would call her again soon.
A bit later the second line of the Inn rang. This is the number that the guests use for outgoing calls, and when it rings, it is usually a wrong number. This time, a woman's voice asked for "Mort." I didn't know Mort, but after some questioning I discovered Mort was the woman's brother,and he must have called her from the Inn. He was recently out of prison, and was a guest at the Inn, as well as one of Br. Xavier's helpers. I tracked down Br. Xavier, he went into the yard and found Mort, who came into the office for the call. He told his sister he was in big trouble. He had been evicted by his landlady, was out on the street, and apparently had not followed some of his parole rules. He was going to turn himself in soon, he said, but had no place to stay until then. His sister did not invite him to stay with her. I knew we had given him a coat and gloves, but the night temperature was predicted to be close to 4 degrees with the windchill. He bid his sister goodbye, and sadly left the office. I asked him if he would go to a shelter tonight, but he said he could not. He didn't elaborate as to why not, and I didn't press him. I felt helpless and frustrated that there was nothing I could do but wish him a good night and offer a prayer for him.

How did we get to this point?

A lot of people ask us why we are spending the first 10 months of our retirement working in a soup kitchen in Philadelphia, and how we selected the St. Francis Inn. The answer to the first question is easy. We believe as Catholic Christians that God loves the poor, and asks us to take care of the poor. This task translates to different things for different people. For a number of years we have been talking about taking a year to serve the needy somewhere in the U.S. Family considerations caused us to limit our search to the eastern United States.

We began researching places to work about 2 years ago. At first we just stuck ideas into a file. However, last summer we go serious. I used the Catholic Network of Volunteer Service website

(http://www.cnvs.org/volunteerprograms/workshops.php) to search for organizations that would take married couples over the age of 55 that had housing and that were located east of the Mississippi. We came up with a list of 28 organizations. I made a spreadsheet with all the information I could get about the group, the jobs for volunteers, the locations, the dates to apply, etc. Both of us got a copy, and then we spent a week thinking about the groups and praying that God would show us the places He would want us to go to. We ranked our choices 1-5, then got back together. We were sort of surprised (but not shocked) to see that we had chosen 4 of the same organizations. That's what happens when you've been married 34 years! So then we started to contact the groups. One of the groups was going to stop placements in a year, another only had housing for couples in California and another didn't want to hear from us until January. So we narrowed it down to two groups and visited them both in October and November,2008. Both were great organizations and both had a lot of positives and some negatives. However, we really were attracted to the community at the St. Francis Inn, their mission to serve the poor with dignity, the Franciscan charism of hospitality, and the opportunity to be challenged in our thinking about the poor and homeless. We see these next 10 months as a life-changing experience, mentally and spiritually.