Day Three: God's Little Acre
January 2, 2018 I wake up with a mix of drug addict hookers, drug addicts, drunks, mentally disturbed people and one seven foot tall twentysomething black guy who talks like a sitcom version of a black gangbanger.
Oranges and hard boiled eggs are served, and I'm thinking wow this is healthy. A note on healthy, up to this moment I've been eating extremely healthy, the only exception being the pizza the night before.
The shelter boots us at 6:30 am. The staff need time to clean up and they leave the premises themselves, these shelters are hosted at area churches, and agreements with the church and surrounding area homeowners have dictated the homeless must get at least a block away at 6:30 AM. This is very typical for most shelters, including the Benedict House in Bremerton.
There is a place to go at 9 AM , God's Little Acre, but for now it is 31 degrees and I want to find a place to keep warm and check things online. So I make my way to Fred Meyer. Once there I'm debating about how to spend my few remaining dollars the best way in exchange for nutrients and a warm place to sit. I decide on chocolate milk instead of valueless coffee.
A few minutes before 9 I head towards God's Little Acre and wait with one of the hookers for the doors to open.
I get inside and it really is God's Little Acre. Bright, new, clean, well decorated and appointed. It's an old fire station thoroughly converted to a gathering place for the homeless. It offers a huge kitchen area in which people can bring their grocery store bought food and prepare meals as large as they want. The cabinets are full of free food. So is the refrigerator. The counter is loaded with all kinds of breads and muffins, eggs and potatoes. There are two showers, and a sign in sheet for ten minutes slots in them. There are several washing machines.
I've come to think of the night shelter as providing what it takes to stay alive, especially through a freezing night, and God's Little Acre provides what it takes to remain feeling human -feeling clean and in a bright pretty abode making good food. Which is more important -survival or feeling good? That's the wrong question. Both are fundamental.
I start talking to someone helping run the place. Jim, I later find out he's a retired pastor involved in both the shelter I'm staying in as well as this little acre.
He's easy and fun to talk to. He say's he's heard about me, and I spill my story out. One thing I tell him is this idea have...and I'll share it with you the reader like I told it to him.
Right now, having hit bottom, I'm conscious that to help things start aiming up from bottom I'm going to need to make a lot of right choices. A lot of micro-choices, such as what to spend a dollar on, or whether to ride a bus or just walk the whole way. To keep up on my body weight exercises. Choose healthy food at every turn.
Jim nods and agrees adamantly.
God's Little Acre is open for three hours -9am to noon. It's a great three hours. I'm showered and sit for a long time eating and doing things on my laptop or talking.
I go on a forced march from the tip of northeast Seattle to the Crown Hill neighborhood to meet North as he's dropped off by his school bus. We have the usual good time playing computer games, chess and talking.
I bid North farewell for the night and head back to the dark side of town. By this time people know me, by repeating its become a routine.
Oranges and hard boiled eggs are served, and I'm thinking wow this is healthy. A note on healthy, up to this moment I've been eating extremely healthy, the only exception being the pizza the night before.
The shelter boots us at 6:30 am. The staff need time to clean up and they leave the premises themselves, these shelters are hosted at area churches, and agreements with the church and surrounding area homeowners have dictated the homeless must get at least a block away at 6:30 AM. This is very typical for most shelters, including the Benedict House in Bremerton.
There is a place to go at 9 AM , God's Little Acre, but for now it is 31 degrees and I want to find a place to keep warm and check things online. So I make my way to Fred Meyer. Once there I'm debating about how to spend my few remaining dollars the best way in exchange for nutrients and a warm place to sit. I decide on chocolate milk instead of valueless coffee.
A few minutes before 9 I head towards God's Little Acre and wait with one of the hookers for the doors to open.
I get inside and it really is God's Little Acre. Bright, new, clean, well decorated and appointed. It's an old fire station thoroughly converted to a gathering place for the homeless. It offers a huge kitchen area in which people can bring their grocery store bought food and prepare meals as large as they want. The cabinets are full of free food. So is the refrigerator. The counter is loaded with all kinds of breads and muffins, eggs and potatoes. There are two showers, and a sign in sheet for ten minutes slots in them. There are several washing machines.
I've come to think of the night shelter as providing what it takes to stay alive, especially through a freezing night, and God's Little Acre provides what it takes to remain feeling human -feeling clean and in a bright pretty abode making good food. Which is more important -survival or feeling good? That's the wrong question. Both are fundamental.
I start talking to someone helping run the place. Jim, I later find out he's a retired pastor involved in both the shelter I'm staying in as well as this little acre.
He's easy and fun to talk to. He say's he's heard about me, and I spill my story out. One thing I tell him is this idea have...and I'll share it with you the reader like I told it to him.
Right now, having hit bottom, I'm conscious that to help things start aiming up from bottom I'm going to need to make a lot of right choices. A lot of micro-choices, such as what to spend a dollar on, or whether to ride a bus or just walk the whole way. To keep up on my body weight exercises. Choose healthy food at every turn.
Jim nods and agrees adamantly.
God's Little Acre is open for three hours -9am to noon. It's a great three hours. I'm showered and sit for a long time eating and doing things on my laptop or talking.
I go on a forced march from the tip of northeast Seattle to the Crown Hill neighborhood to meet North as he's dropped off by his school bus. We have the usual good time playing computer games, chess and talking.
I bid North farewell for the night and head back to the dark side of town. By this time people know me, by repeating its become a routine.
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