"I'll be homeless for Christmas"

Recently while listening to NPR, I heard that the song "I'll be Home for Christmas" was one of the most endearing of all songs to the American public--that and "White Christmas," of course. The idea was that, even if we cannot actually be home for the holiday, we will be there in our hearts. I have been thinking lately about these lyrics, especially after working Christmas Day in downtown Little Rock to help feed breakfast on the steps of City Hall to around thirty to fifty homeless people. Garlan, my husband, and I were asked by Robert, a new friend from Trinity Cathedral, to help. Robert's been doing this work every day for the past ten months after discovering one day that those in the soup kitchen at the Presbyterian Church downtown ate just once a day and had twenty-three hours to go before the next meal. Robert's interest in the cause relates to his own son's homelessness for a period of time.

On Christmas Day the weather was as bleak as possible for a Southern city in the wintertime. Clouds sprinkled a chilling, blowing mist of rain upon us on the porch of the facility. One of the women had brought chicken and dumplings in a crock pot, which she had hitherto promised to one of her own family for their Christmas dinner. She was from a neighboring church. Evidently, word of the need is spreading throughout the city. Old worn clothes hung on clothesracks on the most sheltered part of the overhang. My job was to pour steaming coffee refills to those gathered there that morning. One of the men was delighted to find among the clothes a worn pair of wool gloves with the fingers out so that he could get some measure of warmth for his cold hands and still eat his breakfast. I noticed another carrying two bags of apples away from the scene for some food either to share with others later or to eat alone. I met two folks, Nita and Kenny, whom my husband drove to south Little Rock to a woman's house they called "Grandma." You see they had hoped to get one of the free rooms to stay in Christmas Night that had been donated by a couple of local motels. By the time, however, they walked some twenty blocks or so to the location at City Hall, the rooms were all full, and the van had left.

We know this problem is not one unique to the city of Little Rock. I ask myself, "What does it mean to be homeless at Christmas?" "What does it mean to be homeless any night of the year?"
Nita had just come in by bus from Seattle, dozed off briefly in the bus station, and had her wallet with $200 stolen. She had somehow connected with Kenny for a bed at Grandma's for one night at least.

My husband and I cannot give money, but we can give of our time to help in the cause. My own interest in the problem stems from my short periods of homelessness and hunger as a child being raised by a single mother and being abandoned by an alcoholic father. Even today, like my sister Judy, I find myself cleaning my plate of food down to the last bite and often "stowing away" food in my purse for a later meal.

Nita was homeless Christmas Day in Little Rock thousands of miles away from her hometown of Seattle. She had hoped for a better and warmer life down South. I hope she can find it.