It is not easy to write this post. It's hard not to be ashamed and embarrassed because of what I’ve been through. But those feelings are exactly why I'm writing; because fear, shame and silence stop people from asking for help–when help is the only way back up.

I experienced a crazy range of emotions during my two years of unemployment. Three stand out as the most intense and most dangerous. I felt worthless, hopeless and depressed.

Worthless
When all of this started I was a sister, daughter, friend and girlfriend, but my sense of who I was and what I was worth was completely tied up in my job. From it came my sense of self, a life purpose, a reason to be here. I know now that can’t be true.  But at the time I believed that everything I had worked for suddenly meant nothing; and that I too had no value and no one wanted me (further confirmed when a year after being laid off my live-in boyfriend and I broke up). This sense of worthlessness lead to hopelessness.

Hopeless
Month after month of not hearing anything about a job ate away at any hope I had of things getting better. Giving up my car, fighting with the mortgage company, emptying my savings, listening to the news confirm things were not improving, and hearing well-meaning friends ask me if I had found a job ate away at my hope until I simply didn’t have any. Day after day all I could see was that nothing was improving.  At some point I became depressed.

Depressed
I had no idea at the time how depressed I was. When I look back I’m a little shocked that I survived. All I could see was everything I'd lost: a great job, relationship, car, savings. I still had my house but knew I’d lose that soon. It was like I'd lost my whole life.  And I didn't want to do anything. I didn’t want to go out, didn’t want to see friends, didn’t even want to talk to anyone. I did want to stop feeling and thinking. Two common ways to do that are alcohol and pills. I now understand why people go down those roads.

We’ve all heard people say of those on the streets, “I’m not giving them money, they just buy alcohol or drugs.” Yes, they might do that. In their shoes you might too. I did, until I got help. Those months of depression were the most painful and lonely time of my life. I believed that these failures were because of who I was as a person. I was sure I had failed at pretty much everything. I was so far down in a hole I saw no light, no way out.

Even now it isn't easy to admit this. I know now why people don’t and won’t reach out for help. You feel weak and you think you’ve failed. There are stigmas attached to things like food assistance and unemployment. I had to unfriend several people on Facebook who complained about people taking handouts and living off the government.  It's hard to talk about depression when you're depressed. All of this left me feeling alone and broken and afraid. Things just keep falling apart until there is nothing left, nothing physical and nothing emotional.

Thankfully I've gotten help and am moving forward again.

My experiences have led me to believe in organizations like Speak Up. They are a way to help those who ask for it and to those who can’t. A job can give dignity and hope and restore of sense of self-worth. A light at the end of the tunnel.

“Get a job” is a phrase often condescendingly thrown out at someone who is homeless. While the recession allows us room to excuse people, I have learned that once you lose a job things can quickly spiral out of control and make employment nearly impossible to find.

I’ve been working since I was thirteen. I attended the University of Richmond for my undergrad degree and then completed a program at George Mason University, where I received an MBA. In August 2008, I was laid off from a job I really enjoyed. I cried when they told me.

Friends and family encouraged me to take a couple months and enjoy the severance; after all, I had a solid resume and years of accomplishments and hard work to stand on. I deserved a break. Two months later, as I began earnestly looking for a job, it became very clear that it didn’t matter what was on my resume…

I could not even land an interview, let alone a job.

At first I wasn’t worried, the stories about unemployment rates being high all over the country were a comfort. But slowly the months of applying for any level in any industry and hearing nothing became a sign of unworthiness and failure. What were those degrees for? The years of working my way up? The overtime I put in to be sure I would receive promotions and raises? My sense of self sank–I had always connected my identity with my career–and now I felt like I had nothing.

I gave up my car because I couldn’t afford the payments–which only made searching harder; but I still had suits and a computer and access to a someone else’s car.  Still nothing.  If I couldn’t get a job, considering all my experience and resources, how could one expect a person living on the street to find one?

Articles started surfacing about employers who only wanted to hire someone who was currently working. Months of unemployment were a huge black mark against me and I really believed there was a good chance I would never be hired. I have to wonder, how does someone without an address or a phone number even begin to take on the job search challenge?

When I did finally return to work, it was in a position I could have gotten out of high school. I found myself at company that I had worked at before; now making half of my previous income. I had gone from a coveted career at a major company to begging to be hired for a part-time receptionist position.

Without the job I don’t know what would have happened. My unemployment was done, my COBRA long gone. I was so close to admitting defeat and walking away from the life I knew. Giving up altogether was a temptation. I was saved in the nick of time.

I feel as though I struggled and lost. Without the support of friends and family, I could be homeless. I could easily be one of the people who will turn to Speak Up to make the phrase “get a job” a possibility again.

This is the first in a three-part series.  Next week: Janice writes about the emotional toll of long-term unemployment.

I watch the news as the tug-of-war over the national budget, which should have been resolved last year, struggles over their mutual loss that would be a government shutdown. Watching as each political side fights to win the award for best sound bite.

I have fear that the shutdown would impact the least of us more. That which some see as entitlement, I have to view as assistance with survival. I'm a part of the homeless community and I fight to keep my head above water, let alone climb a ladder.

To be a part of the community from the position I hold is more of a challenge than the average person would have knowledge. In fact, I often tell people that the most difficult part of homelessness is when you find someplace to live. That is when all social networks that you relied on to free you from streets, consider the task completed an offer you no more.

During that same time, your challenge will be to walk this tightrope, hoping no challenge will arise that will cause you to fall back into the abyss. I've seen many recycled back into the system. I think the system does not try to release me from this problem, but more assimilate me further.

I have to commend my church, Forest Hill, for creating a ministry to help people who have just moved from homelessness. However, these programs being new, my personal struggle has been in isolation and loneliness.

I've been in Charlotte for two years, spent about nine months on the streets and 1.25 years living in a room. My personal observations have me starving 25% to 40% of the time to make sure rent is paid. So much so that I have become accustomed to eating one small meal a day. This may be I dieters dream, but a problem when you have no choice.

No one has hired me in the last year, even with the broad range of knowledge and skills. These days, computerized applications seek specialist in everything. What ambition would I have had if I had been a dishwasher for the last 20 years? I have enrolled at CPCC, and challenged to maintain home until this two year achievement has been reached.

So I watch the arguments over budget, restricting unions, privatizing Medicare and try not to grow bitter nor angry. Try not to let negative consume me, because I still a job. Wishing my life was a little different, so I can get to be a good neighbor.

I would like to watch the news programs and their arguments of protecting the future, then be able to relate on the same perspective. I cannot afford the vision to look towards the future. I can barely afford to see past today.

Crystal Thomas

One morning while waiting for the Lynx to take me to the now defunct Reid’s Fine Foods for some ice cream, I noticed a young man trying to get my attention from across the rails. To the trained eye (or maybe I should say, the concerned eye) he had the telltale signs of homelessness. Worn shoes. Rumpled, slept-in clothing. Multiple bags stuffed to capacity and then some. I signaled him over to my side and, to my amusement, he proceeded with an unsuccessful pick- up line. After several failed cover stories he revealed that he was seventeen, a high school drop-out, and had left his home in South Carolina due to some family problems. He expected to find more opportunities in Charlotte but, instead became a new member of our city’s homeless population.

Where would most of us be without steady employment and affordable housing?

Many of us are simply the “currently housed homeless.” I ran this phrase past my mom because I live with my parents and I know they could never see me as a part of this group. But I am well aware that only a merciful, compassionate God and His provisions separate me from this label. Upon my release from federal prison after serving ten years of a twelve year sentence, I lived in transitional housing as a requirement of my release. I left prison with a lot of experience but little in the way of financial means. It was three months before I found employment and even with that I did not earn a true living wage. (Merriam -Webster Dictionary defines living wage as: “a wage sufficient to provide the necessities and comforts essential to an acceptable standard of living”) I do have some savings, though not enough

to sustain either financial independence or an acceptable standard of living. If not for my parents, who allow me to live rent-free, I could easily join the ranks of Charlotte’s homeless.

Who else is qualifies as the “currently housed homeless?” A man who scraped together enough money to pay first month’s rent and deposit and was just laid off. A teenager who finds herself staying in an abusive relationship just to have a place to stay. Anyone living paycheck to paycheck and sometimes ahead of their next one, with heavy interest looming. The family who moved to the city looking for opportunity but instead found low-paying jobs and a high cost of living. Anyone whose debt-income ratio is dangerously high.

My examples may land too close for comfort for some. Who really wants to look at the few steps that exist between our comfortable beds and welcoming homes and the ordeal of securing one of the 500 available beds on a nightly basis?

Photo: Keith Weston

There is a quote that I read about two years ago and it has never left me.  Even more so, this quote challenges me in a different way every time I read it.  I read it again today.  It comes from a story written about a girl and about hope from To Write Love on Her Arms:

"We are only asked to love, to offer hope to the many hopeless. We don't get to choose all the endings, but we are asked to play the rescuers. We won't solve all mysteries and our hearts will certainly break in such a vulnerable life, but it is the best way. We were made to be lovers bold in broken places, pouring ourselves out again and again until we're called home."

I want to find practical ways to meet real needs.  I find myself constantly praying for God to show me what to do or to open up some door or opportunity.  More and more I hear God telling me; "I have shown you what to do, his name was Jesus and He loved people.  He didn't wait for some organization to hold a soup kitchen (which are great ministries), Jesus simply went to people, loved them, and helped them with what they really needed.  God never told any of us that this was going to be easy, but I have to believe God when he says that this is the best way.

One last thought:  There is a frost warning tonight.  The temperature is going to drop into the 30's here in Charlotte tonight.  I am thankful that I am writing this from the comfort of my heated home but I can't help to think about the thousands of people on the streets of Charlotte that are sleeping outside or the families that had to chose between paying a gas bill and feeding their family.  I think there are a lot of people out there like me who think about these things and, much like me, go to sleep.  Let's do something different.  Let's wake up in the morning and see what we can do.  Let's use these blogs and this community to share some ideas to start meeting some practical needs.

Photo: Perfect Sonnet

The end of last month I had a real interesting week. Sunday the 27th, I faced the first day of a job I worked over two months to get into. Some friends from church had collected money to put me into lodging until my first paycheck–but the job started two weeks later than originally expected. So I secured the job, but faced a return to homelessness by Wednesday of my first week.

So I was dealing with the possibility of losing the job because of this challenge.  If I could not maintain my new temporary home, I would have to return to homelessness, forfeit the extra clothing, iron, dishes and other amenities that I acquired in this short time. I would also be yoked again with that feeling of hopelessness that accompanies ambitions and dreams lost. I have proven strong to survive in the past but after tirelessly working the last nine months to arrive to this modest point, loosing this would impact me with tremendous power.

That Sunday night, I gave a modest prayer.  I have not done such in the past, believing that simply enduring the process would provide sufficient spiritual insight–that Jesus would give lessons of enlightenment.  But that night I needed My Father as any child would, staring into the abyss of discouragement.

“Lord, you know I’m not one to ask, but I need you now like I never have before. All I need is to survive the week. I have no money and do not know how to get it, but I need a week’s rent. I need to last at least my first week at work.”

Let go and let God? I had no choice. I did not have the resources, so all I could do would be to wait for my Wednesday check out to come.  At least I’d still get a few days to work before I went down.

My first day at work went very well and my new employer was surprisingly comfortable. I was skeptical, considering my start date had already been bumped twice–their decision.

At the close of the work day, I took a two hour bus ride downtown to maintain a commitment to a volunteer effort that could use my help with graphics.  A friend said that she could help with 1/3 of what I would need towards rent for the upcoming week.  I supposed I could use this to eat, once I would no longer have a home.

But my arrival at home, later that evening, changed my plans to return the streets and homelessness.  My sister had sent an email saying that she could help with a loan for 2/3’s of what I needed.  I have always said that God is the master of mathematics, with all those details needed to keep the universe working.  This was so smooth; I would guess He was showing me how easy He could flex a muscle.

Wow! Thank you Lord!

Now, all I would need is to acquire money for another week of travel, so I could ride the bus until my first payday on the 9th.

I waited for the bus to work Tuesday morning and see a couple of shuttles headed for the college. I know they don’t pick up at bus stops on the way, so I jokingly put my hand up, like I’m waving for a cab. The second shuttle stops and picks me up.

I take this act of kindness as Jesus getting involved and offering me an opportunity.  I tell the driver that I accept her kindness as a "God thing" and that I want to return the favor using my graphics or web design skills.

“You do websites? I have a non-profit and need a website.”

Whoa.

We talk about what she would need and my abilities. She lets me out at a stop where I could intercept my next bus.  As I exit, I notice the time and realize that had she not picked me up, I would have been late (about 2 hours if I missed that next bus).

I look up to a fine sunny morning and whisper, “You’re good!”

I am convinced that with faith and a good heart, prayers are answered.

I love sitting out on my little apartment porch…I have some petunias and violets and there are lovely trees that soften the view of the garbage dump across the street. Sitting here this morning, there is a gentle breeze in the air. Quietly, I open my bible and my eyes fall to this passage…

“For this commandment which I command you today is not too difficult for you nor is it out of reach. It is not in heaven that you should say; who will go up to heaven for us to get it for us and make us hear it, that we may observe it? Nor is it beyond the sea, that you should say; who will cross the sea and get it for us and make us hear it, that we may observe it? BUT, the word is very near you, in your mouth and in your heart, that you may do it!” Deuteronomy 30; 11-14

I am cut to the heart as I read each word. And a memory floods into my mind…A memory of a peaceful evening a year ago, here on this same porch with my husband Owen. The atmosphere was full of crickets and fireflies and we seized the moment to take in the evening. We talked about all the things that we desire to do as a family…the things that had been stirring deep down in our hearts for a long time. “We could take the kids to a soup kitchen once a month to serve food to the poor. And, go to the nursing home up the street to read and sing to the widows. We could sponsor an orphan in Africa or someone who is persecuted in China.” Sitting here this morning, I realize that not much has come from our sincere intentions.

Yet strangely, instead of feeling guilt and shame and discouragement…I sense God washing over me and empowering me with His Word…filling me afresh with courage and compassion. I suddenly feel emboldened to declare, “Lord, You say I am equipped and able to live for Your Kingdom TODAY, right now, as a young mother of two…one more on the way, a clumsy wife…prone to mistakes. You say Your Word is very near me, in my mouth and in my heart…that I may do it!

“When did we see You hungry, and feed You, or thirsty, and give You something to drink? And when did we see You a stranger, and invite You in, or naked, and clothe You? When did we see You sick, or in prison and come to You? The King will answer and say to them, “Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did it to one of these brothers of Mine, even the least of them, you did it to Me.” Matthew 25:37-40

Photo: j03

I heard the other day the concept of Social Loafing — The idea that if large group is responsible for something, they are less likely to get something done than if a single person is responsible for that same thing.  We think in our minds ‘Well, someone else is doing that,’ or ‘What can I really do anyway?’

I look at our city.  I see a bunch of good-hearted people.   I see a lot of big churches, with great discipleship programs and great services.  Wonderful things.  What breaks my heart is that we can get so caught up in playing church, we tend to look at it as “what does it do for me this week?” instead of the real purpose – “how can I love the people around me like Christ would?”

I examine my life and ask, “What difference am I making? “  Am I bringing life to someone’s path?  Are there not needs of those around me in my community, right around the corner?  Are there not those who need food, who need clothing, who need a place to sleep?  Are there not those who are lonely, who need a friend, who need someone to simply listen to their story?

There are people everywhere like this, be they rich or poor.  The question is, how willing are we to initiate this type of mission in our personal lives?  The risk is too great.  We risk losing our convenience.  It is counter-cultural.  We risk change.

Could it be that we have to fight and to work to be a helper and a servant in our community?  Could it be that we have to purposely plan to leave our comfort zones?

In a culture of abundance and emphasis on personal gratification, I think it does.   The ‘leaving all we know’ and following Christ can have a very practical meaning for all of us – every day.  He is right here in our streets.  He is the one feeding the hungry, giving hope to the hopeless, loving the children, serving those in need.

He is doing this, will we join Him?

Photo: Charlie Cowins