Personal Belonging

 

Dear Friends,

Brrr! Tuesday morning the temperature was 6 degrees. As I was gratefully staying warm with wooly socks and a steaming cup of tea, I read in paper about a community of men and women sleeping in tents under I-20 – and that many of them prefer this arrangement to being herded off to a shelter (as police officers and social workers were trying to do on Monday).

The reason? As one man told the Atlanta Journal-Constitution reporter, he didn’t want to lose his stuff. “Every time I have gone to the shelter, someone takes my tents and blankets, and then I have to start all over again.”

Certainly tents and blankets are more than personal belongings in this instance. They are vital items to protect body and soul against the elements. As I reflected on the article, I not only thought about how harsh those conditions were for the homeless community under the freeway bridge, but also how very human it is to want to hang on to our personal belongings – for warmth, for comfort and, perhaps, for a sense of place in the world.

I wonder whether personal belongings might help ease the sense that we are vulnerable or alone. I thought about this often as a chaplain at Wesley Woods. The residents there, most of whom were widows or widowers, had very tiny rooms in which to live out the remainder of their days. And, so personal belongings were few and, I imagine, carefully chosen. They perhaps eased the transition from home to institution and helped make the sterile environment feel more like theirs.

Common personal artifacts included old wedding photos, pictures of children and grandchildren, a cherished afghan or pillow, or a favorite small chair or table. One retired Georgia Tech engineer who was 90 had his alma mater pennant tacked to the wall and a stuffed Yellow Jacket near his bed. Another resident had a few classical albums and an old turntable. Another had bright Japanese wall hangings.

These articles captured mere fragments of these residents’ lives, but they told powerful stories about what was important to them – family, friends, and their personal passions.

As for the persons living under I-20, nylon tents, thin sleeping bags, battered blankets and sheets of plastic to help form barriers against the cold tell what kind of story? Whose story? Perhaps their stories are not about the residents themselves, but about us – about a society that still hasn’t found the will to make the care of the poor our top priority.

Don’t these men and women belong to us? Let’s make a difference. Ask Northwest Outreach Team Leader Sharon Cameron how you can help. And, if you can, please join me on January 13 at Central Presbyterian Church for the “Moral Monday Coalition.”

Warmly,

Terry