Remember Her Name

Her name is Kelsie. It isn’t really, of course. I cannot divulge that here. But for the length of this post, her name is Kelsie.

Remember her. She is your neighbor.

How we met is irrelevant. God crosses paths in his own beautifully creative way.

She was alone, afraid, and desperate.

Even as she shared her story of heartbreak and abuse with me, I could feel an imprint, like a child’s hand in clay, pressing hard on my heart.

So many children to care for and no one to turn to. No support system. No family. No church. No neighbors. Few friends.

Alone. 

Let that word, with all of its oppressive darkness, sink in.

That imprint…

I felt it when the dinner hour rolled around each evening and I knew hungry children would be looking to their mama for food. I sensed it when I knew things were supposed to fall into place for her... and didn’t.

She didn’t have bottles for the baby or even the $1.75 to ride the city bus. Nothing and no one.

I brought groceries and Happy Meals and toothpaste. I shopped for items that could fit into the tiny frig in the shabby motel provided for them by a local charity until a shelter spot could be obtained. You would have as well. You know you would have. You don’t look NEED in the face, then turn away and shout, “Good luck!” over your shoulder.

When I arrived with supper or other items, toddlers swarmed around my legs and lifted tiny arms to be picked up and held. So precious and beautiful, these confused babies.

I taught them Wheels on the Bus and even the tiny ones would put chubby fingers to lips and mimic my “shh, shh, shh,” then squeal, “AGAIN!” when I finished.

The mother, so discouraged and emotionally beaten down. Sick with worry and fatigue. Desperate to meet the needs of her hungry, growing children. Waiting, waiting….

For what??

A spot at a shelter? Not much to hope for there. Little privacy. Fear of violating shelter rules and being escorted out the door only to be out on the streets with no backup plan.

The existence of the homeless is a daily grind. The stress is constant. It eats them from the inside, out. Young children grow old quickly and assume the role of family guardian. Those most vulnerable worry constantly about what each day, and worse yet, each night will bring. Will they have a roof over their heads? Will they have food in their bellies? Will they be warm?

I have heard these words from the homeless, themselves. It is an agony of soul that consumes the will to move forward. HOPE fades into a dull, near-forgotten dream.

I must confess, I am discouraged at the lack of services for people like my friend. In polite circles we shrug off the “homeless problem,” our consciences’ salved by the knowledge that there is a local shelter.

I’m sorry, have you been there? Do you know what it is like to step into that world? If you have preconceived ideas surrounding the whys and wherefores of transience, I gently advise you to not judge unless you have walked in those shoes. God forbid you should ever have to.

Take a long look at my friend, Kelsie. Remember her name. She lives among us.