The End of the Road

May 7, 2014, was not my last visit to Tent City. It was actually July 3, the day police evicted the last resident of the camp.

I came back because although it was never my physical home, my heart remained there amid the tall pines and makeshift shanties. Even as we move forward, a part of it always will.

The air felt heavy; the storm clouds stirred. Journalists snapped photos; the group of volunteers assisting Minister Steve with the move bustled about. Noel and his crew rounded up chickens for transport to the animal sanctuary. The men fumbled with the hitch for the big generator. Odds and ends were packed onto the bus and onto the Winnebago-turned-flatbed.

Just before eight o'clock, three Lakewood police officers arrived and informed all of us that it was time to vacate the premises or else receive summonses. 

We piled into our respective vehicles and followed Minister Steve as he first pulled the old Winnebago onto Clover Street, which faced the camp. The bus would be next.

I parked across the street, got out of my car, walked with others to the end of the road, reminding myself it wasn't time to mourn. Not yet. Despite my misgivings, I walked back into camp one last time.

I said good-bye to a longtime resident, Hollywood John. We hugged and he said, "I've met a lot of good people here. And you're one of them."

I tried my best to smile. "So are you, my friend."

In those moments, the familiar roar of the engine was a death knell. Following close behind, I took my last trek down the dirt road. The rain started falling not long after. Steve, Jack, and a few others covered the items on the Winnebago with heavy tarps. I left in a daze.

The following day, as the rain fell in torrents, so did the tears.

A week later, I received a text with a video attachment. I couldn't believe my eyes.

The entire camp, save for a single cross from a miniature shrine built only weeks before, was completely gone. Empty. Not one structure left standing.

Though it was already dark by the time I received the video, something within me stirred. I had to see it for myself. I drove from my home in Freehold to Lakewood, bearing little mind to the potential of police presence, to the intersection of Cedar Bridge and Clover. Just like I'd done almost exactly eight months to the day - only this time, to confirm that it was really gone.

I pulled a few feet in, turned on my high beams, wondering if maybe it was all a bad dream. That I'd see the bus parked in its usual spot. That I'd see the gray cat run out from under the chapel. That Frances would come to my window. That I'd hear the roosters crowing and the hum of the generator. That someone would be there to guide me in a K-turn so I'd avoid hitting the trees, or to dig me out when my tires got stuck in the mounds of sugar sand.

But save for a few garbage bins, and of course, the cross, Tent City was no more.

I opened and closed my eyes a few times and just waited. It took a few minutes for it all to sink in.

And when it did, I realized just how alone I felt. 

I Have Heard (Reprise)

This isn't the poem that opened this blog many months ago. It's the speech I made to the Lakewood Township Committee on behalf of Tent City, which is now in the final stages of being dismantled. The title comes from hoping THEY are the ones who heard.

Over the course of the past year, as I became involved in Tent City, Lakewood has become sort of a second home to me. For as they say, "home is where the heart is..." But I grew up only a few towns over from here. And there are some very noteworthy things about Lakewood. 

The first is a true sense of community – the “unity” being the biggest part of that. The second is the sense of identity and culture: the glue that binds the community together. Also admirable is the value placed upon knowledge, and the value placed upon family. 

But I’d like you to imagine, if you will, what you would do if you had to live without all that. If for whatever reason, you found yourself cast out, ostracized, and disconnected. Whether it happened as the result of a choice you made, or because of circumstances beyond your control. Or perhaps others’ perception that you were no longer worthy to be a part of your family, your neighborhood, or your society. 

If you have not, then you are among the rare and highly fortunate few. But again, try for just a moment to imagine your life without the people and things that define you. How painful and isolating that must be. 

No matter our background, culture, or beliefs, I believe our common thread as human beings is our need to connect to one another. To have a sense of belonging, and a sense of community. 

Those of us who support the homeless, were somehow able to reach beyond our own comfort zones and connect with people who have little. And by doing so, we ourselves have been blessed in so many ways. Most of all realizing that even though we’re coming from many different directions, races, creeds, and situations, we’re not that different at all. 

The notions of “home” and “neighbor” are so much more than just having a roof over one’s head. That is why watching Tent City, a community of the disenfranchised, being scattered to the four winds, rends my heart on a profound level. 

Because I believe every person in this room has, at some point in their lives, felt a sense of loneliness so powerful that it rocks the foundation of who we are. It makes us question and doubt ourselves and our very identity. After spending a good deal of time with the residents, I know that is what the people of Tent City are feeling right now. 

That is why I call upon every person here to look deeply into your hearts, find it within yourselves step outside your respective comfort zones. And after you look deeply into your own hearts, raise your eyes, and without fear or reservation, look into the hearts of others. 

I call upon you to think not of the past, but the future. And whether you will help us build upon the lessons of Tent City, and work with us build something better. More sustainable. More comprehensive. A community of individuals that, like Tent City strove to be, regardless of their differences, turned into a neighborhood. And a community that you can proudly say are YOUR neighbors. 

I believe it can be done, and that it SHOULD be done. 

Thank you.

Moving Forward

Today - just over seven months after my first visit - was my last time in Tent City of Lakewood, NJ. I said the good-byes I needed to say, hugged a tree or two (and consequently got covered in MORE SAP), and drove off.

And as I sit here right now and type this, I feel a complete sense of peace. It wasn't an easy decision, but for me, it was the right one.

This truly is something I've been praying and thinking on for quite a while. And let me make it clear that I have absolutely no regrets whatsoever about the time I've spent there. Quite the opposite - I'm taking so much with me. Friendships. Faith. Memories. Countless life lessons. An entirely new perspective, a renewed sense of purpose, and a more confident sense of direction. But where there once stood a place of hope in the wilderness, there now stands little more than desolation. I have put forth my best efforts helping those in need, but by now I truly believe those who remain have made a conscious choice to do so. It saddens me a bit, as I'm not sure whether it's out of fear, a false sense of comfort, or perhaps just having given up on themselves. Or, perhaps they're just too broken to let the light in. And if that's the case, there comes a point when you need to accept that you've done all you can do - that if someone isn't willing to help themselves, you can't force it.

Today, just like every day from the moment this journey started, I woke up and knew I had a choice. And just like I've been doing every day since the first, I chose love.

But a big (albeit difficult) part of love is knowing when it's time to let go.

To those who have shared the journey with me, I thank you all for everything you've done and continue to do for the people of Tent City. To all those who have supported me on this journey, know that I am still dedicated to serving the poor and the needy, and that my leap of faith was not in vain.

To all those who, like me, are moving forward and "being the change," you know where to find me. Here's to what's waiting for us on the other side of the bridge.

Peace and love to you all!

:-) Lisa

Graduation Day

Over the course of these past few months working in Tent City, I had the tremendous fortune of encountering a student whose passion for helping the less fortunate knows no bounds.

Like thousands across the country and beyond this time of year, he is about to graduate and take the plunge into the so-called "real world." His experience - the dizzying sensation of stepping out of a four-year-old chrysalis and looking ahead into the great unknown - is both unique and universal. Although my own was almost twenty years ago to the day, its lessons and emotions are still vivid.

The first word that comes to mind when I think of my own college graduation? Trapped. Not optimistic, not hopeful, not any of that. Just, trapped. My father passed away when I was a freshman, and I'd bought a house with the inheritance money he'd left to me. Which meant I was tethered to the responsibilities it entailed. My mother already had a job lined up for me - as a receptionist at her friend's exterminating company. I knew I'd be moving back home, and I envied friends who would be spending their summer as they themselves chose: backpacking across Europe, lounging on the beach, delaying their foray into reality at their leisure.  I felt like after four years of being in complete control of my life (or at least believing I was), I was about to lose every ounce of independence I'd fought to gain. And for a while, I did. I got it back eventually, but it was not without a good deal of struggle.

But seeing this soon-to-be graduate, full of promise and faith, I'm confident he'll do well. He's one of those contagiously optimistic people you just know will succeed at whatever he puts his hand to.

Sometimes, though, when I hear him talk about it, I get the sense that even though he might not show it, there's a little bit of fear behind those childlike eyes. Just like anyone faced with a significant life change, he is still not completely certain about what's to come. He'll speak of dreams - heading cross-country with family, for example - or he'll say he's not worried. But the truth is, leaving the familiar behind - even when you know in your heart the future holds something better - can be scary. Especially when that entails relinquishing whatever independence you believe you have.

And even if you ARE ready to move forward, perhaps there are people in your inner circle who aren't. Who, because of their own insecurities and fear, will do everything in their power to keep you chained to the old ways of thinking and behaving. Who, like the subject of the Bruce Springsteen song "Glory Days" prefer to reside in the past.

Whether or not those people choose to follow you across the bridge, when the time comes, there will be plenty more people waiting with open hearts and open arms, to serve as guides and co-navigators, ready to reveal all the beautiful possibilities that await. I think of the words of Isaiah 43:18-19: "Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."

Congratulations to him and all the "graduates" who stand at the proverbial bridge, ready to make their way to a new destiny. Let it begin. Amen.

Scattered

Every time I go to Tent City, the place feels slightly more empty, a little less neighborly. There are fewer and fewer familiar faces greeting me, hugging me, joking with me about the time I locked my keys in the car or got stuck on an ice-covered hill. 

Our little village is being scattered to the four winds. But hope still "springs" eternal.

The good news is, there are so many kindhearted, passionate people working to ensure that Tent City's former residents have what they need as they take their first steps back into society. Food, furnishings, clothes, transportation to and from jobs and Social Services. And prayers. Lots of prayers, that the rest of the transition will be a smooth one.

So we gather, we toil, we pray and uplift one another. And still, the cloud of uncertainty rolls in. Because we know it won't be an easy road. We know our society, by way of disinterested politicians, has stacked the odds against them.

There are many who have health issues that interfere with their ability to work, but they cannot obtain adequate healthcare or insurance. There are so few programs available to help those whose illnesses are exacerbated by a need to numb the pain - physical and/or mental - by self-medicating. The average cost of living in our fair state is over three times higher than the minimum wage, making it a struggle to stay out of debt.

There are those who had to sacrifice a beloved animal companion just so they could obtain housing.

And there are those who were offered vouchers in lieu of the year of free housing, and we can only hope that they will use them judiciously.

All of them were, or are currently being forced by a callous system to abandon the little community they called home.

Just the other day, a resident and I were talking about a self-care strategy she learned through Alcoholics Anonymous, known as "HALT." I'd heard of it many years ago when I was struggling with depression, as it applies not only to those in recovery, but to anyone in danger of succumbing to a state of despair.

HALT is an acronym for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, and Tired. Dr. Gudrun Zomerland talks about this tool in detail on the Chinn Street Counseling website (found here). But for now, I'm going to focus on the "A" for Anger, and discuss why, at least for me, it's the hardest factor to address.

Because anger - unlike hunger, loneliness, and exhaustion - is not an easy thing to fix. The other things are easily satiated with tangibles like food, rest, community. But left unchecked, anger feeds on itself, growing to incapacitating proportions, resulting in the destruction of self or others, or mutating into other harmful emotions like fear, resentment, or self-pity. Which could then cloud our judgment and lead to poor choices.

But if you look carefully at this much-avoided emotion, you'll note that at the root of most anger is a pervasive sense of powerlessness.

We can, of course, turn it around and use it to our advantage - which most of us do. Because we know that through the Source of All Life, we are NOT powerless, and through us, neither are those whom we serve.

But sometimes - and rightfully so - we are still angry. Frustrated that we seem to be toiling for naught, as for each person we help, even more needy people are coming to us in need of assistance. While those in power turn a blind eye, a deaf ear, and a stony heart.

And with all the open-ended "why's" that come with each test, we continue to learn when it's time to use our anger, and when it's time to just let go and let God fill in the blanks.

Peace and love to you all!

The Choice

In a short time, Tent City will be no more.

We are on a precipice, looking out into the unknown. Transition is scary, and it's a tremendous challenge. These past few weeks have called many, many things into question. 

And there is always the choice to say, this is too much for me. I've done all I can do.

In theory, I could listen to the naysayers who tell me I'm wasting my time. I am a being of free will. I could walk away right now, and I would be okay.

I would need some time to regroup and recalibrate, but in the long run, I would find my place once again, just like I did when I came to camp that autumn day.

And if I decide to move on, these are the things upon which I would reflect.

First off, in these past six months, I have learned a great deal about what it means to love unconditionally. Not loving because we expect to receive anything in return, but because in keeping an open heart and giving love freely, we are transformed.

Through my experience with Tent City, I’ve become a more balanced person physically, mentally, and emotionally. Because in order to make room for the things that were important to me, I had to learn how to be flexible and at the same time, not burn myself out.

And the payoff has been tremendous. I am thankful for the chance to grow in patience, strength, self-control, and the knowledge that I was able to use my gifts for the greater good. I gained the ability to just listen and exist within each perfect moment, having complete faith that everything would work itself out in the end.

In showing others that they had self-worth and dignity, I reconnected with my own. And as a result, I love the people in my life – my children, my mom and other family members, and my friends – more deeply.

I don’t always make good choices, but I am learning to be better at dealing with the consequences and making amends where necessary.

I’ve learned how to really meet people wherever they’re at, learn to speak the language of their respective hearts, and discovered that everyone has a story to tell and gifts to share in this world.

And yes, I’m learning how to tell the wildflowers from the weeds.

As for me, I am still (and will always be) a work in progress, but I am at complete peace knowing that I am exactly where I need to be, and all things are unfolding as they should.

I discovered just how alike we really are, no matter how different – because the light of the Divine lives inside every human being on this planet. 

Giving love for love’s sake is never a mistake. If someone is not ready or willing to receive it, that is on them. You are free at any moment to walk away without blame or bitterness, knowing you did what you could.

So if indeed I am mistaken in giving my all to something that may or may not have a future, I accept that. 

Because, just as 1 Corinthians 13:8 reminds us, love never fails. What you put out in life always, always comes back to you in some form, and in abundance.

Every day, when I wake up, I am free to choose.

And today, I choose love.

RIP Doug

Photo Courtesy of the Asbury Park Press

The call came during the Destiny's Bridge screening in Westfield tonight. Another resident of Tent City - Doug Hardman - had passed away.

Just yesterday, I was relaying stories about Doug to a friend. We'd had many conversations, shared a great deal of laughter, and sung many a duet together. Everyone who met Doug - myself included - was amazed by his intellect and depth of knowledge of multiple topics. His love for music manifested itself when he took turns at the Tent City piano. He left behind many notebooks filled with original compositions.

Doug was a long-term resident of Tent City, on and off for five years. He came to the woods in the middle of a snowstorm, on a cold January night.  Doug was a one time government contractor, handling multimillion dollar government contracts. After his wife passed away from cancer, he lost all motivation and lapsed into alcoholism - and it cost him his business. He then fell victim to shady dealings of a local social work program, which resulted in him being swindled out of his waterfront home:

http://www.foxnews.com/us/2012/10/12/anti-poverty-volunteer-keeps-profit-from-homeless-new-jersey-man-house-sale/

Doug had made many attempts to seek help and combat his alcoholism. Like others, he was awaiting his year of free housing, but after waiting for a year, he had still not been placed. For a time following his most recent stint in rehab, he was placed in a motel by Ocean County with no access to proper medical care. And then, when he was unable to single-handedly manage his illness, he was forcibly evicted from the motel where he was staying.

They didn't call a hospital or a counselor or anything. Just, "get out." To a man with an obvious sickness.

And after returning to Tent City around five days ago, he was found unresponsive and, even after multiple attempts to resuscitate him, lost his life.

Doug's brother James - a musician residing in California, whose talent was a topic of tremendous pride for Doug, and who also performed a live concert in Tent City back in November 2011 - received the news while vacationing with his wife for their anniversary. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zBVCNiSe09A

Doug's sons - one of whom lived in Tent City with Doug for a time - are now without a father. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iiZPL2qF9Ws

And we who spent time with him at Tent City and knew of his gentle spirit and kind heart, lost a friend.

Doug, wherever you are now, I hope you've found the peace that your earthly life denied you. Know that you are loved, and you are missed.

Wildflower

THE WILDFLOWER

In autumn it was planted
Grew strong amid the snows
Amid the sandy pinelands
a wildflower grows

I’m not much of a gardener,
but I tend it when I can
With caution, but still trusting
That God must have a plan

I water it with moments
I shelter it with care
Some know and may have seen it
but most don’t know it’s there

I give it love, I give it time
I give it light and room
And sometimes grow impatient
With the hope that it will bloom

It could be an illusion
For the winter’s been so bleak
That any sign of life
Would to the season’s end bespeak

Sometimes I fear, that even still
Despite such careful toil
One day, I may return to find
An empty patch of soil

I’m learning to just take my time
To breathe and take it slow
With gratitude, and awe to watch
My wildflower grow.

The Lightkeepers

Sometimes, my brain gets crowded, and my heart cowers in fear of being trampled beneath the weight of my thoughts.

And with good reason. It all began with a small fire that destroyed a resident's tent, resulting in material loss and inconvenience, but fortunately nothing more.

But that was followed by another fire - one that claimed the life of My Dyn, who was not only a very sweet, friendly man, but who really was trying to get himself together.

Then, more tragedies: learning of three men - two incarcerated in Burlington County and one up in New York - who suffered from mental illness and lacked the capacity to care for themselves. They were met not with compassion, but with cruel indifference. And they lost their lives as a result.

And then came the news of the motel fire in nearby Point Pleasant that killed, injured, and/or displaced so many people - many of whom were already homeless due to Superstorm Sandy.

All these people - My Dyn, the three men, the Sandy victims - were told to wait. To have hope. To be patient.

They died, still waiting.

Yesterday, I went to Tent City and was met by the sight of Lakewood's bulldozers yet again, tearing down now-abandoned tents. Mike McNeil from STEPS had come to camp, and was subsequently flanked on all sides by homeless people in the midst of panic and despair. With unsubstantiated rumors that Tent City would be completely demolished within the next month, they were demanding to know how much longer until the Township of Lakewood followed through on their promise.

How much longer, indeed. For some, it would be a week. But others - namely those whose ability to care for themselves independently was called into question - will have to wait longer. Perhaps indefinitely.

They are being told to wait. To have hope. To be patient.

Those are the people for whom my soul weeps.

But even in the midst of all this doubt, with time, self-care, and encouragement from the people around me, the mental traffic jam dissipates, and my heart finds peace. And my mind finds wisdom.

For example, I'm learning a great deal about what it means to love unconditionally. And how to best call upon that love so that I may serve as a beacon of light, warmth, and hope, even when every ship in sight is being thrashed by storms of uncertainty. In a conversation I had with Minister Steve yesterday, there was a mention of boats, and the notion of living on the water. Having spent nearly every summer of my life at the shore, and having had somewhat of a love affair with the ocean almost from birth, the thought of navigating a house boat has always intrigued me.

But in terms of personality, I must confess that I see myself as less of a sailor, and more of a lightkeeper.

Calling to mind the song "Turn, Turn, Turn" (based on Ecclesiastes 3:1) I am learning that there is a time and a place for patience - and yes, for waiting - but also a time and a place for action. A time to listen, carefully and without interjection, and a time to make our collective voice heard loud and clear. Like a foghorn calling to sailors far and wide.

May we find the strength to face the raging sea, lift our voices, and shine our light.

Peace and love, my friends!

Homelessness in America by Julia Ronneburger

What if we lived in world where we were forced to live each day in a constant state of fear for our lives? From one day to the next, you didn’t know where your next meal was coming from. Forget trusting your neighbors, because when every single one of your possessions is at risk for being stolen, even the very shoes on your feet, you make it your job to protect them. Every night before you went to sleep, you pray to God just to be able to wake up the next morning. Now, imagine what life must be like for those who aren't fortunate enough to have a roof over their head. It follows the above scenario quite closely, doesn't it? Homelessness is unquestionably a prodigious issue in this country. There are over a million people out on the streets facing those types of horrors on a day to day basis. The shelters already available only make the nightmare even worse, as most of them can hardly even be considered adequate for temporary living. It truly makes you wonder what the government is doing with our money. Instead of turning a blind eye to those who are in need, the United States government should attribute a greater portion of their budget to finding permanent housing for the homeless.

Homeless shelters are a fantastic idea. This is, among donations and a few homeless awareness organizations, our current solution. But when the shelters aren’t maintained well enough to the point where people would rather choose the streets, that’s when you know there is a problem. Former homeless man David Pirtle describes his experience in a homeless shelter in an interview on National Public Radio’s Talk of the Nation. “You hear a lot of terrible things about shelters, that shelters are dangerous places, that they're full of drugs and drug dealers, that people will steal your shoes, and there's bedbugs and body lice… And I found out that a lot of what I was afraid of was true.”  Pirtle describes them as “a lot of big warehouses that are just places where we stick people at night and we really don't have any regard for how they live there.” It’s no wonder why most homeless people would rather spend the night sleeping in an alleyway rather than put themselves at risk of mistreatment, robbery, and diseases. The only source of help most of these people have are the shelters, and even then, many people are turned away due a past record of alcohol abuse, drug addiction, or mental illness. Looking at the greater picture, it’s really not their fault that they’ve ended up like this. After falling into financial situation where they are unable to support themselves, they turn to desperate options. These people have turned to such habits because of the inequitable situations they were forced into, not because they’re ‘reckless’ or ‘don’t feel like following the rules’. Yet somehow, in the eyes of many, these people are considered as nothing more that ‘psycho druggies who are too lazy or too pathetic to find work.’  The fact that some people actually believe this is just downright discomforting.

Another point to mention is money. Since the 2008 recession, it’s safe to say the economy hasn’t exactly been in the best state it can be. Times of economic distress are when people reflect and ponder, what is the government really doing with our money? On average, the United States spends approximately 20% of its budget on military expenses. “[That equates to] $718 billion on defense and international assistance,” adds The Washington Post. While it’s wonderful to have strong and able forces ready to protect the nation at the slightest notice, there are more useful, constructive things we could be spending our money on. In addition, at the end of 2014, the national debt is predicted to exceed $21 trillion. Not million. Not billion. Trillion. Now, that doesn’t appear to be a model example of “smart saving.” An alternative argument that arises is if the United States is already drowning in debt, why not just significantly cut spending all around and be more mindful of where our money’s going rather than wasting it on something else? Surely this is a valid point, however, it is better to turn old spending habits around. Start directing more attention to a cause that truly needs it.

It is not right that we allow people to live in poverty. An American middle class lifestyle would be considered living like royalty in other regions of the world. Moreover, if people knew that families with children account for 36% of the homeless population, would they still turn the other way? Or that 40% of homeless adult men are United States veterans who have fought for this country and our lives yet struggle to live without a safe place to go at night? Compassion seems to be getting scarcer and scarcer as we progress into a future of technology and greed. Power, money, and personal gain have become more of a priority in today's society than philanthropy. Regardless, all people deserve the right to life and the basic necessities: fresh food and water, comfortable clothes on their backs, and a safe place to live.

Homelessness is not an obstacle so easily averted. To bring the matter of contention to pass, the best solution is for us as a nation and the leaders of this country to wake up, stop recklessly dissipating finances, and direct the proper advocacy towards the homeless. What we have now clearly isn’t working. It is an abomination that we as a society continue to neglect those living in dearth. When there’s something in the world that needs to be put right, it’s up to the people to join together to set things in place. With collective benevolence, entirely abolishing homelessness may very well become a reality.

Go Big or Go Home: My Letter to Governor Chris Christie

Dear Governor Christie:

Earlier this year, in your inaugural address, these words you spoke struck a chord in me.

"We have now learned that we have an even bigger role to play as individual citizens. We have to be willing to play outside the red and blue boxes the media and pundits put us in; we have to be willing to reach out to others who look or speak differently than us; we have to be willing to personally reach out a helping hand to a neighbor suffering from drug addiction, depression or the dignity stripping loss of a job. New Jersey came together as one community when it mattered most and now we must stay together — people of every background and belief — the government and our people — to help our fellow citizens reach their dreams."

When you spoke last week at Holiday City in Berkeley, there was a woman sitting in the back, holding a sign. It read:

HELPING THE HOMELESS
WE HAVE IT ALL PLANNED
WE ARE NOT HOPELESS
ALL WE NEED IS LAND
www.TentCityNJ.org

That woman was me. And this is the story behind that sign.

That day, you addressed the crowd and spoke of government bureaucracy – something we who advocate for New Jersey’s homeless know all too well. When I saw you greet my friend Nahdirah – who is not only a Tent City advocate, but also a former resident herself – I was overjoyed.  Because our battle to help the homeless in Ocean County has been a long and arduous one, and you offered us a glimmer of hope.

Since the mid-2000s, Tent City of Lakewood has served as a stopgap solution to address Ocean County’s growing homelessness - and, as stated by its founder, Minister Steven Brigham, “a living demonstration of a need for shelter and affordable housing.” Then, in 2012, Hurricane Sandy not only destroyed physical homes, but also ravaged the economy in Ocean County to the point that the working poor became the homeless poor. The surge in Tent City occupancy following the superstorm was unprecedented.

Some left homeless by Sandy were able to obtain motel rooms or small apartments at a cost of around $1500 a month. But not everyone was able to receive housing benefits, so many homeless people left living on the streets, in cars, or elsewhere – deprived of not only the basic necessities of human life, but any sense of dignity or community.

You’ve also no doubt heard about the ongoing battle between Tent City and the Township of Lakewood. The good news is that Lakewood has agreed to place a number of Tent City’s occupants in free housing for one year, during which time they will be formally dismantling the camp.

The bad news is, because Ocean County has no homeless shelter, where the folks in the temporary housing will end up after that year is over is anyone’s guess.

As the sign says, however, we are indeed far from hopeless. We DO have a plan.

Destiny’s Bridge is a privately-run, non-profit charity organization that aims to continue the work started in Tent City with many improvements. We envision it as a place where those have found themselves without a home for whatever reason, can heal, become strong and empowered. Unlike a traditional “homeless shelter”, that provides simply a cot and a roof over one’s head, Destiny’s Bridge provides an actual temporary home, sense of community and sense of purpose that nurtures dignity and self-worth. All we really need is the land on which to build it.

Governor Christie, we need your help. We are counting on you to help us ensure that if ever a tragedy like Sandy should strike again, every human being can still receive shelter, food, clothing, and human dignity. Please help us, as you instructed, to "help our fellow citizens reach their dreams."

With warmest regards,
Lisa Rose Ferrara

Being the change...

Dear Jillian,

Welcome to Tent City, and I'm very happy I got to meet you yesterday. "Be The Change" is a great organization, and it's extremely inspiring to see young adults coming together and using their gifts to serve others.

But specifically, I find YOUR choice - to spend your spring break in Tent City - remarkably inspiring. Even with the worst of the winter being over (we hope), it's a far cry from a sunny beach in Cancun or Daytona. Or even Mom's sofa playing Xbox. For lack of a better comparison, Tent City is basically a Third World village in a first-world town.

Some things you have probably discovered by now: first off, that roosters do not just crow in the morning. And, those little feathered devils can be loud enough to wake the dead.

Secondly, when you hear the bell (actually, the big empty propane tank), a certain number of rings means a sermon is about to begin, and a different number means food has arrived and/or is being served.

Thirdly - and this I can promise you - you will leave a completely different person.

I started out solely doing online advocacy work for Tent City - blogging, video editing, and assisting with online promotion and PR. On one of my very first visits, sometime in late October of last year, I didn't come with truckloads of donations. I came with a bag of apples, a few women's coats, and a case of water. There was a large church group (possibly two) that brought in truckloads of items. In terms of what I was able to, literally, bring to the table, I felt pretty small.

But I also realized how fortunate we are in Tent City to have food and clothing in abundance, so those temporal needs are always met, with enough left over to help the working poor of the greater community outside of Tent City. You'll note that the big yellow behemoth in the middle of camp is always very packed, and there are makeshift storage pods here and there as well. We are a society of great material wealth, even among that which we might normally throw away.

Emotional and spiritual needs, however, are much more of a challenge - to give them, but also to receive them. Because even if giving seems effortless and natural, you never know how you will be received by someone going in.

Recently, a pastor visiting Tent City gave a sermon about how we are all "cracked pots" - and how our flaws are actually opportunities to let God's love shine through. I cannot tell you how much that resonated with me. I wrote a blog entry a while back about how God doesn't call the qualified, but instead qualifies the called.

So while you're here, don't forget to pray, and keep an open heart. He will give you everything you need. And when we open ourselves to that, it is the most powerful, transforming experience you can have here in your time on Earth.

So, thank you for flying, please fasten your seatbelt, and remember that your seat cushion can also be used as a flotation device...just kidding. Again, welcome, and may Love shine through you, guide you, and keep you warm during your stay.

Spring Ahead...

If you live in New Jersey, or anyplace else affected by the polar vortex, you understand. It has, as the Beatles once sang, been a long, cold, lonely winter. But when I woke this morning to sunshine and fifty degree temperatures, I was able to imagine what it must feel like for the butterfly to emerge from its cocoon for the first time.

So with my windows rolled down, driving through Atlantic Highlands with its lofty ocean views, my the radio turned up, and no one to remind me I don't have wings, I flew for a little while.

The proof of spring's approach is also heralded this day by setting our clocks ahead one hour. While I may lament the loss of that single precious hour, I also know it will, like the ice and snow, return just as seasons do.

Truly, now is the time for new beginnings. For everything once asleep beneath the snow, or tucked inside the tall branches, to awaken.

For hope, and for possibilities.

For the first signs of new life.

Let it begin.

Godspeed, Michael and Marilyn!

http://www.my9nj.com/story/24851286/farewell-to-tent-citys-piano-man

Left to right: Minister Steven Brigham, Michael
Berenzweig, Marilyn Berenzweig, Tent City
Volunteer Susan Faye Lorito-Schindler

On Thursday, Tent City residents Michael “Piano Man” and his wife Marilyn Berenzweig (pictured, center) left Tent City with the help of two volunteers. Susan Faye Lorito-Schindler (pictured, right) and her young son Kevin embarked on the arduous journey, loading up the formerly homeless couple’s belongings as well as the menagerie of birds and other animals in the Berenzweigs’ care.

Su sent us an update a short while ago:

All is quiet in my car the last 150 miles, Kevin fell asleep. Have to drop him off at his dad's. He has no school tomorrow,;I have no work. It has been an exhausting trip. There were some things that didn't go the way we wanted them to, certainly didn't expect some of the complications that came up. But overall I think it was a successful trip. I'm glad that maybe the worst of it is over. We plan to go back in about 2 months. Something good still need to be worked on; there are friends to help with. It's good to have friends in different places with different views. It is amazing how people come through for you when you really need them to. We threw caution to the wind and continue to push forward regardless of the doubt and fear.

Sometimes what one can do just never seems enough. I got some good pictures and we'll go down and visit soon. The things that need to be taken care of are going to have to be put in the hands of friends. One friend came with his cousin to take the U Haul truck back because I just didn't have time. Another friend is going tomorrow to see if there's anything else that they need. Someone offered furniture. It’s just overwhelming.

I think one of the most profound moments that I had was a very surreal experience of sitting with Michael in a church pew, reading verses in the Bible that he pointed out to me during the service. We were there for about 3 hours. We had a great meal together with the pastor and someone who sang acapella to the congregation and a few others. You would have fell out of your chair when you heard Michael preaching at the preacher and telling him if he didn't know Hebrew he didn't know how to translate the Bible! The food was good and I had never seen him eat that much. We had a lot of fun. He got phone numbers and one lady lives just a couple miles down the same road they are on; she gave her card and two numbers to reach her for absolutely anything they need.

One thing that is simply shocking to me is Marilyn's agility and flexibility and strength. I did not know that she had done yoga in her life until I saw her stretching first thing in the morning as the Sun came up over the field. She can bend straight down as straight as can be and put her hands on her feet. I cannot even touch my toes! She seems to have endless energy to walk the field with all the chickens and buckets of water.

Two women came to speak to us at the church and one spoke with Michael about local services and transportation and such. The other asked me about why we were there, and I explained a little bit about the circumstances. She said, “you must really love him a lot!” I got so choked up trying to tell her she grabbed a hold of me and hugged me really hard and said, “don't worry, we'll take care of them.”

Please keep Michael and Marilyn in your prayers as they begin this remarkable new journey!

A Blight and an Eyesore

I went to Tent City yesterday, took the footage of the bulldozers, and recorded Steve Jr's interview with Matt, a resident whose home is marked for demolition.

I implore all my readers to share this as often as they can. Lakewood's leaders may believe that demolishing Tent City is a "victory," but until Lakewood ends its corrupt, separatist, discriminatory practices against the poor, the issue of homelessness will not disappear.

Peace and love to you all!

Heartbreaking News...

There are times when even a writer cannot find words.

But fortunately, other Tent City supporters were able to get pictures – pictures of Lakewood officials marking tents and other structures for demolition.

And the bulldozers are assembling tomorrow at 8am.

The dismantling of Tent City has begun, and my heart is breaking…will update with more info as it becomes available.

Willpower

The other day, I asked Minister Steve about his decision to become a vegetarian. He answered that it was not only the influence of his son (who is a strict vegan), but also an exercise in self-discipline.

I admire that quite a bit. Mostly because “self-disciplined” is, shall we say, not a word that describes me at all. I actually had to look it up in the dictionary to familiarize myself with its meaning. No, really. It’s somewhat of a foreign concept.

I have friends whose self-discipline (also known as “willpower”) helped them to lose weight, quit smoking, save for retirement, and yes, even change lives. In considering some of my own bad habits, I thought of willpower as some magical quality that you either have, or you don’t. Born with it, indoctrinated with it, bought it at the willpower store, where I pass the window and gaze at it longingly, asking myself why I can’t afford it – and then, realizing it’s probably because I don’t have the self-discipline to save the money.

You see, In my mind, the word “discipline” by itself makes me shudder. I am a lover of freedom, personal and otherwise. I embrace the moment and indulge in the present. My emotions and my appetites rule with an iron fist – well, more like a soft, squishy ball of self-indulgence that’s sort of shaped like a fist. I don’t even use the word when it comes to my kids. I coach them; I admonish them; I yell now and then. But man, that D-word…not a fan.

Ironically, it’s my love of freedom that has become an obstacle to things in life I wish to achieve. For example, I want a clean house. I just don’t want to actually clean it myself. And I know exercise is an excellent way to help treat depression, but my bed is a lot more comfortable than the gym. It’s not for lack of time; since I work from home, I can arrange my schedule however I choose and carve out an hour here or there where I need to. I just…don’t.

So I asked people: what is this willpower you speak of? How do you get it?

The answer? Practice.

Oh. Great. Something else I totally suck at.

And then another thought occurred to me: that I tend associate self-discipline with snobbery. You know those people with the “I did it, why can’t you, you’re just making excuses” attitude? It’s not just the complete opposite of motivating. It’s downright demeaning. You really, really don’t need to tell me I’m fat. The inner critic position was filled thirty-some years ago, and regularly assisted by the mirror, photographs, clothing ads, and the occasional person who pats my belly thinking I’m pregnant. Kudos to you for busting your butt at the gym every day and losing a hundred pounds. Just don’t insinuate that you’re success and I’m a failure. It took me many years to accept and love my body as it is despite incessant shaming, insults, and criticism – and to me, THAT is a success story.

But you know who deals with that even more than fat people? Poor people.

As an advocate for the homeless, I hear it all the time. “Those people” are just lazy and don’t want to work. “Those people” wouldn’t be living if tents if they’d just quit the alcohol/drugs/self-destructive behavior. And the critics don’t stop there; they even insult the volunteers: “You’re not helping them! You’re ENABLING them!”

I cannot say what sort of personal achievement makes them feel so superior to the folks living in Tent City. Some, perhaps, were able to overcome their circumstances through hard work, inner strength, or the grace of God. But most people were just plain lucky. They were born into far different circumstances, even privilege. They were blessed with outstanding coping skills, loving parents, an education. They too have made imperfect life choices – just different ones.

And sometimes, even all those privileges don’t matter. Those who lost homes or businesses to Sandy, Katrina, or another natural disaster are well aware of that. Those who chose to serve our nation in the military and recently had their benefits cut, know it all to well. Those who turned to the government for help and were met with runarounds, red tape, and bureaucratic floundering, can give more than a few lessons on it.

We who serve the homeless did not take the easy way out. We did not ignore the problem. We recognize that some people, but not all, will take advantage of generosity – but we believe that all people, regardless of their circumstances, deserve the basic necessities of life: food, shelter, clothing, and some sense of dignity. We don’t give selectively; we don’t judge; we don’t determine who gets to live and who is allowed to die, even if those in need feel worthless and undeserving. To loosely quote L.R. Knost, instead of allowing the actions of a few to convince us that this world is a cold and heartless place, we press on to make the world a little less cold and a little less heartless.

That is success.

It is so easy to forget that everyone is doing the best they can, with what they have, and what they know. Remembering that, and treating people accordingly, is a success.

Surviving in the face of adverse conditions, as the poor do, is a success. And yet, dying poor is not indicative of failure.

Achieving a goal is praiseworthy. Willpower is admirable. But we ought not determine human worth by our own personal, narrow definition of success. Instead, try to remember a human being is not the sum of their achievements, their habits, or what we may perceive as failures. That ALL OF US are worthy of respect and love.

Go in peace.

Paradise

It had just started to snow when I arrived at Tent City. There was a distinct sadness in the air: Minister Steve’s onsite assistant Cindy had just lost her father, and worse, in a very tragic manner.
I didn’t have much to offer in terms of words, but it meant a great deal to me to be present to her, give her a hug, share her grief. Residents rallied around her; some came by and offered a shoulder for her to cry on; some helped clear snow from her tent and walkway; others held off on asking for needed supplies just so they could honor her privacy. Minister Steve was there to comfort her, even in between two funeral services he was officiating. Cindy insisted on keeping busy, taking time to make phone calls, rest, pray, and mourn in between her tasks.

My dear friend is on a plane right now back home to South Carolina, and I awoke with the realization that my own father’s birthday is today. Had he not passed away when I was a freshman in college, he’d be seventy-one. And it’s easy for me to recall the friends and family who uplifted and supported me when I got the news, when I sat in a daze at his wake and funeral, and when I came back to school and, like Cindy, insisted that getting back into my normal routine was best. Just like Cindy, I was grieving. I’d sit in the campus chapel in between classes, or play the song “Tears in Heaven,” which was quite popular at the time, until both my eyes and the cassette were raw. I joined a support group, went on my very first weekend retreat, and forged bonds that have lasted for over twenty years.

And I believe such bonds were forged yesterday at camp as well, as many of our homeless friends shared the burden of her grief.

Eventually, a handful of them took refuge from the snow, gathering around the wood stove in the chapel. One commented how comforting it was just to sit there among friends, and another responded sarcastically, “yep, another day in paradise.” And then I had the Phil Collins song of the same name stuck in my head for the duration. Someone had brought in hot coffee and was passing cups of it around. They shared their own tales, from the sorrowful to the downright horrific. One man lost both his parents at a young age. Two people spoke of losing loved ones to suicide; one had a nephew who was murdered. And the two residents, Slavic and Mario, who passed away within a month of each other, were mentioned as well.

I thought of my father. I thought of friends my own age who’d died suddenly and tragically. I thought of the three students who died in a fire in my old college dorm fourteen years prior. I even thought of my aunt’s beloved dog, who died at the ripe old age of eighteen earlier in the week. I shared a little, but mostly I just listened.

But the mood wasn’t altogether somber or depressing. It was just people sitting together, keeping warm, sharing stories. Sharing grief. Sharing a part of ourselves that, whatever we believe about the afterlife, yearns to keep the people we’ve lost alive in some way.

Death does indeed connect people. Grief and loss are universal. Few reach adulthood without some pretty big holes in their heart they attempt to fill. Some try to patch up the surface, put on a smile, pretend they’re still whole. Some fill those holes with anger, feeling that person was stolen from them. Some try to drown them in alcohol or other substances, numbing themselves until they can forget the hole exists. Some fill them with faith, believing they will be reunited with their loved one after death.

But there is no denying that they are very, very hard to fill, save for a good deal of time, and the love and presence of those who care. I looked around that chapel, wondering who – if anyone – was present for my homeless friends in their time of loss. At least for some of them, it became clear to me that those loss-shaped holes are still wide open. For as those holes can be filled with time, love, and memories, they can also be ripped wider by loneliness, guilt, and despair.

Today, a piece of my heart remains with Cindy, her family, and all those who mourn the loss of her father – and with all those who grieve, for whatever reason, I send you my thoughts and prayers. Mostly, know you are always loved, and you are never alone.

Throwback Thursday: "A Homeless City in the Woods." Alex Morris, New York Magazine, Jan 10, 2010

A lot has changed in four years...but in many cases, not for the better.

http://nymag.com/news/features/63047/

The article was written just over four years ago. It was known back then as Cedar Bridge. And it housed only around forty people.

In four years, it's become less of a "social experiment" and more of a community, the population has doubled (with the all-time high being around 120 residents), and neither Lakewood nor Ocean County isn't much closer to a long-term solution to combat homelessness.

Four years ago, I had to find a new place to live after the bank threatened that foreclosure on the home I'd owned for eighteen years was imminent.

Governor Chris Christie was sworn in as governor almost exactly four years ago, and was recently re-elected. In his recent State of the State address, he touched upon the issue of poverty in New Jersey:

"We have to be willing to play outside the red and blue boxes the media and pundits put us in; we have to be willing to reach out to others who look or speak differently than us; we have to be willing to personally reach out a helping hand to a neighbor suffering from drug addiction, depression or the dignity-stripping loss of a job."

Governor Chris Christie, I challenge you to live those words. Because until you do, that is all they are: WORDS. I challenge you to visit Tent City of Lakewood, NJ despite the Lakewood voting bloc that helped put you in office. I challenge you to speak with the residents and learn all about the far-reaching effects your party's budget cuts have had on the poor.

I say, come out of the comfort zone of your OWN little red box, Governor Christie, and face the REAL "State of the State."

Place Inside Your Heart

On this first day of 2014, we're making resolutions to improve our lives: losing weight, quitting smoking or other habits, saving more money, spending more time with friends and family, etc.

I have a challenge for you.

Will you also vow to make the world a better place?

Will you open YOUR heart to a stranger? To the less fortunate?

Will you take time from your busy life to listen - really listen - to their story?

To learn more about our Tent City, please visit TentCityNJ.org

For all the latest news, please LIKE "Tent City of Lakewood, NJ" on Facebook, and INVITE your friends - facebook.com/TentCityNJ


Place Inside Your Heart
(Note: Still working on the music, but the lyrics just sort of came to me just now)

I see you pass by
Always a place to go
Always another obligation
Ready to overflow
We're worlds apart
You with a heart of gold
Me in the shadows of
A story yet untold

Is there a space inside your heart
Somewhere that's safe inside your heart
Is there a place inside your heart
That's meant for me

Is time on my side
Each moment like a string
Tied together
By the gentle hands of destiny
Or will you pass me by
And will you never see
The restless soul that seeks a place
Beneath your weary wings

Is there a space inside your heart
Somewhere that's safe inside your heart
Is there a place inside your heart
That's meant for me