Debbie has called or visited the churches in her area asking for help but again has been turned down; most of the churches sent their available funds to help Hurricane Ike victims in Houston. She’s been to the United Way, but they too have limits on the assistance you can receive in a given time period. She routinely visits the food bank, but you’re allowed only one bag of food every thirty days. In her last bag there was a bottle of mustard, baking chocolate, and dip for chips, but no chips. Not exactly a meal.
I’ve nearly exhausted my resources for helping Debbie and by the time you read this will have fully exhausted them. Nonetheless, let me emphasize how disgustingly inadequate this feels. I’ve sent her several hundred dollars of my own but it’s not enough to stop the bleeding and all I can afford is to stick a Band-Aid on a severed artery. Sadly, the more I suggest, the more she has already done. I’ve given her moral support and encouragement and yet it feels like throwing crumbs to the starving. I have wanted—more than I can express—not to feel the pain and hopelessness of her situation, yet I have cried tears of frustration and exasperation for her. They are nothing, I’m sure, compared to the tears she has cried herself.
And yet. And yet this remarkable woman remains practical and more surprising still, hopeful even through the darkest hour. As Debbie told me today, “I know the possibilities I face are real. I know there is a good chance things will get worse—a lot worse—I might have to face being without a place to live and having the things I need to beat this war on my own. As it stands today it’s more likely than not. But as long as there is just one inch of hope, I am going to keep fighting this battle. That is my job for right now. I still hang onto hope and wish for some miracle to happen.”
I doubt I would be equal to the task were I in her shoes.
It may be the end of the road for Debbie, but it is not the end of this story. In fact, I suspect it is just the beginning. This Broken America is not acceptable to me, and it shouldn’t be acceptable to you. Many (myself included) are worried about losing money in banks and investments. But at least we have money to lose. Even though we’re fed doom and gloom 24/7 on the news, and even though the light is dim now, I believe it can shine brightly again. The gift Debbie bestows is the gift of hope against all odds; the lesson of her story is that it doesn’t take much to transform doom into hope. And that’s a lesson arriving not a moment too soon.
The futility of homelessness in America is entirely preventable, but only if we prevent it. It’s not up to some agency or some Web site or some charity, it’s up to each of us individually, deciding from within yet acting collectively. It might be a long road, and it might be a slow go, and we might have to do it one Debbie at a time, but together we can do it. One by one we come forth, we stand together, link arms, and before we know it together we’ve built a bridge over troubled water. So, for all our sakes, will you help?
