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.
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!
