Ulcers by Kaze Gadway

Ulcers by Kaze Gadway

     I’m sitting with some street people when I notice that one is holding his stomach. “What’s wrong?” I ask

     “My ulcers have come back. I had them in the army,” he says.

     I give him the number of the homeless vets desk and tell him that they will help him.

     “No way, I’ve tried them before. They tell me I have to deal with my anger. I’m not going back and tell them all the s*** I have to go through being on the streets.”

     “How have you dealt with your anger before that worked?” I ask

     “Mainly I don’t complain. Whatever disdain they show me I just shut up. Sometimes I get a good boss and I clean up their yard and they treat me like human. But most people look me up and down like I’m an insect and pay me as little as they can. The wind was blowing away all the leaves as fast as I could rake them the other day. The man who hired me just cussed me over and over again and said he wouldn’t pay. Finally after hours I got the stuff in bags and put it in the trash. He paid me $5 and told me to not spend it on booze. I just kept my mouth shut. I need the money but the anger goes to my stomach.”

     The others nod as they remember some of their temporary jobs. What can I say? They are homeless. They have no protection. If they work, they take their chances and the abuse.

     Awareness campaigns are good. Everyone in our society can learn how to treat people with respect. There will still be racism and hatred of those who are different. It is up to us who care to demonstrate how.

Friends by Kaze Gadway

Friends by Kaze Gadway  

On my way home the other day I stopped for coffee at one of the Pueblos. To my surprise my homeless friends who got some new coats that I had been given last winter waved and ran over to my car. They didn’t want anything; they just wanted to say Hi. We probably had had four conversations over the year.

     “We got a good place to sleep,” they said. “We found an empty house and the basement is open. We can sleep there out of the rain and wind.”

     I asked what they would do if the police came around.

     “Oh, they will just run us off if we haven’t done anything. And we keep the place clean so we are okay.”

     We talk a little and they wave goodbye.

     I don’t know why this makes me so happy. Perhaps it is the joy of knowing that I am connected to those who survive, who find happiness in small things.

 

Kids and Garbage by Kaze Gadway

Kids and Garbage by Kaze Gadway

     “Want a cookie?” he asks as he pulls one out of his bag. I thank him and eat it. I have been watching this man with a long scraggly beard pick up garbage off the street. He shows me his finds: two cake mixes, a part for an electric shaver, mustard and ketchup packages and some half eaten burgers and hot dogs. He says he can find good food sometimes where tourists eat.

     I ask him if he has seen kids doing this. He looks at me sharply. “Yeah, I see the kids at some of the dumpsters sometimes. We all have to survive.”

     Later as I drive back toward home I see homeless kids running from a dumpster. My emotions range from rage at the wasted resources of this country to frustration at not being able to do much at getting food to street children to tears at the hopelessness of children who eat garbage to survive.

     Last night it was 32 degrees with heavy winds. I fear for those exposed to elements. I pray for the children. And I continue to raise money to help the few that I can.

 

 

Woman in Red by Kaze Gadway

Woman in Red by Kaze Gadway

     “Where does she come from?” asks a man at the coffee shop. We have seen her in there three times with enough money to buy coffee. She doesn’t wear much, just a blanket over her head to cover some worn clothes. He confides “She doesn’t have enough money for a refill so we just give it to her. She walks so she must live around here. I have not seen her on the street when I drive over her.”

     I say “Hi there,” to her and she pulls the blanket tighter. I say something to her each time I see her, careful to not stare or look her in the eyes. I have seen many women like this on the street. They are afraid, cautious, and vigilant. They want to be oblivious, hidden from those who can hurt.

   How do I know? They tell me. “I can’t go back to the shelter,” one whispers. “I was raped there and I’m scared.” This is a common story.

     Two young girls tell me, “Yeah, we have a pimp. We weren’t going to do that but men kept picking us up and beating us up so we go with a pimp now. It gets us a bed and some food.” They are sixteen and ran away a year ago.

   Another woman tells me “I keep a knife with me. I was messed with once and it is not going to happen again.”

     Again and again I hear of abuse to women and children on the street. We all know about this. I am more aware of it since it is in my face.

   We need some more prayers with feet. These problems are not solved just with money but by people with the desire to change the system. Yes they need food and safe shelter and better clothes. What they need most is someone who pays attention.

Three Guys by Kaze Gadway

Three Guys by Kaze Gadway    

     Just when I parked my car on Homeless Street, three guys pass by to take a snack. I ask if they need blankets or a jacket. They were delighted. One chose a green jacket and the other a green blanket. They were so happy and grateful.

     One says “This is the first time someone has given us something.”

     Another one sees a Snuggles box and asks if he could have that. “Of course,” I say.

     He pulls it out of the box and puts the brown camouflage robe on and wraps it around himself. He says “I’ve always wanted one of these. I never thought I would get one on the street. It is so warm.”

     They wave and continue down the street.

     I don’t think it is “what” they get but that someone is happy to see them and wants to share.

     I don’t know why that makes me so happy but their grin does it.

I want to Die by Kaze Gadway

I want to Die by Kaze Gadway

     “I’m not retarded,” he says as he hugs me on the street. A Native developmentally delayed man who sees me runs up and asks “Am I your friend?” He is wasted. His friend, a Native from a different nation, comes over to see if he is alright.

     “We just got out of jail,” he says. “He cusses at people and they beat him up. I try to protect him but you see how he is. He is simple. They stole our stuff last night so we slept across from the Church without blankets or anything.” I give him a sleeping bag and a jacket to replace the ones that were stolen.

     The first young man is now sitting on the curb talking to Amy. We gave him some snacks and water and he has already put them down somewhere and doesn’t remember where they are. He starts crying. Amy sits with him in silence with great compassion.

     He begins swearing at God. “I don’t believe in God. I hate him.”

     Trying to change directions, I ask “What do you want in your future? What do you want to change?”

     “I want to die,” he says and starts crying. He whispers, “The devil talks to me and wants me to die.” At this, I am lost. I don’t know what to do next. I am without words.

     Amy and I talk afterwards about what is possible for help for this young man who is developmentally delayed, addicted to drugs, sleeping on the street and mentally ill. We have contacts but the odds of finding help are slim.

     The percentage of those on the street who are mentally ill is increasing. These are the ones who don’t know how to fill out forms, who forget where to go to eat, who get their things stolen on the street, who are afraid to go into buildings, who don’t know how to get help when needed.

     They are the vulnerable, the outcasts, and the ones who need someone to just sit with them.

Don’t Come Close by Kaze Gadway

“Don’t Come Close” by Kaze Gadway

     “Don’t come close,” the street woman says. She is sitting with her back to the wall with her blankets around her.

     I stop and put a bag of food and water on the sidewalk. I back off. She says “God bless you.”

     I repeat the words and walk away.

     She shouts “Thank you.”

     I turn, smile and wave. I say “If you need anything, let me know.”

     She starts crying so I lean against the wall and wait with her standing some distance away.

     I tell her, “I wish I could squat down but my knees are bad.”

     She immediately starts talking about her knees and how hard it is to stand in line all day waiting for food or shelter.

     We chat a bit on the difficulties of being on the street, of being a woman, of getting older.

     Finally she walks up to the bag of food and picks it up. Then she comes over and pats me on the shoulder. She says God bless you again and goes back to her spot.

     I am strangely comforted.

Perks of Blessings and Cows too by Kaze Gadway

Perks of Blessings by Kaze Gadway

     I remember visiting my uncle’s dairy farm as a child. My father told me that he had to get up early every day, including Sundays, to milk cows. “Days off are not an option” he says.” When you have crops or animals, your responsibility is to care for them regardless of how you feel or what you want. You can’t whine that you don’t feel like it. The cows will remind you by crying.”

     He concluded, “Never forget that there are hardworking people who do not let sickness or feelings get in the way of work.”

     I don’t know why I remember the scenes that I do but this one has never left me. I assumed that I would always be in a work situation where I complete my work regardless of how I felt. Over the years I discovered that perks and rights have crept into our work ethic in this country.

     “You have a right to take a little time for yourself,” has been told to me many times. It is not that we do not have to take care of our health. Or that we do not grow physically incapable of doing all that we used to do. But, there is a difference in our fundamental understanding of total responsibility toward the work we have accepted. My uncle arranged for someone else to take care of his cows when he could not. He did not walk away and say “I have a right to a break.”

     I am not advocating a change in our work week or perks in our jobs. I reflect on my basic attitude toward responsibility and how I got that way.

     On Good Friday, I waited in the sun for those who could walk the stations of the cross in downtown Albuquerque. Desertion flitted through my mind several times. “Why don’t you just go home? You don’t have to sit here waiting. No one will know if you left. Everybody understands if you just leave.” At that point those crying cows in the barn came to mind. There is no way I could just leave. I am not shaped that way.

     That day, homeless people greeted me as I sat on the steps. We talked about food and shelter and weather and sidewalks. I discovered that if I mention that my knees hurt, we have great conversations on their aches and pains. If street people want to eat, they have to get up and stand in line over and over again. They have to leave the sidewalks in the morning, pack up their belonging and leave before the police come. They have to find food and shelter every single day. Their feeling and degree of sickness do not stop them if they are to survive. They help each other to move, to find food and shelter and to be protected. They have no days off. Their work responsibility is to survive and to help others survive. They share their clothes, blankets and food with others.

     The least I can do is to stay at my post as long as possible and to find others to cover my work when I cannot do it.

     It is in my blood and bones to do so. My perks are the blessings that shower me.

   . I am retired and can physically be on the streets. That is my job. And I thank all the people this year who have sent us visa and MC and Walmart gift cards to help with the homeless. Being able to hand out socks, blankets and food have been survival to those on the streets. Together we are doing our jobs as faith people, caring for those who are vulnerable.

     Thank you cows for reminding me.

 

 

A god thing, a holy place by Kaze Gadway

A god thing by Kaze Gadway

     The Easter story proclaims itself again. After the Easter Vigil at St. John’s Episcopal Cathedral I floated. I love the lighting of the fire outside and the solemn procession into the nave. We each have a candle in a totally dark Church. The scriptures and the sermon are spoken in the dark. Finally the lights come on when we begin the Eucharist. What a dramatic scene of darkness into light.

   Four hours later I wake and get ready to transport the food to St. Martin’s Homeless center. Three Episcopal congregations gather to serve the food Easter morning. We attended Easter services with the homeless at St. Martin’s. Some of the volunteers brought Easter baskets for the children and tiny chocolate eggs for everyone. I had brought some soft toys that have been given to us over the years and combined with other soft toys there, we handed them out to the children first and then the adults.

 

     This is the god thing that happened. I sat next to a homeless woman who was stroking a tiny stuffed dog. “I have already named him. I am calling him ‘comfort.’”

     A homeless man at the same table shows his blue bunny toy and announces “I am calling mine ‘hope.’”

     My throat tightens. I am gratefully overwhelmed and brokenhearted at the same time. So little to bring the word that everyone is valuable.

     Later Amy and I go to the sidewalk breezeway where the homeless wait during the day. We had colored our Easter eggs the night before and covered them with green glitter and stickers. After we gave out bags of Easter candy and eggs, Amy carried a basket of jelly beans to hand out and I carried the eggs. You cannot believe the delight as people picked out the colors they loved among the jelly beans or choosing just the right colored Easter egg. A special delight to some is that the glitter could be picked off the eggs and sprinkled on others.

   Gladness and delight cover the faces of those who clutch their Easter prizes. So much joy with so little effort. It only takes someone to really like people on the streets.

     What a glorious Easter message.

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It’s Here by Kaze Gaday

This is the day we celebrate that we are no longer separate from God. That we are so individually loved as God’s children that the kingdom of God is already present in front of our very eyes. That we already have one foot in eternity (Buechner) and the other foot in what is profound and beautiful and good in this world. Today is Easter.

It is here for all these people though they know it not.