In Search of Compassion

It was a sleepless night following the Howell Township Committee meeting attended by members of Destiny's Bridge, our Howell homeless, and a number of supporters, as anger and indignation left me no cause to dream.

One lesson I take from this encounter is that people in power define "compassion" differently than we commoners. The deputy mayor and others lauded themselves for showing "compassion" to the homeless, and rightfully so. Thanks largely to the former town manager, Jeff Mayfield, Destiny's Bridge became the first government-sanctioned camp on the east coast, and one of the very few in the country. With the knowledge that the land was earmarked for eventual auction, we set about creating a community that offered the otherwise-homeless residents a sense of belonging, dignity, and purpose.

With the land now sold to Dr. Richard Roberts, a Lakewood resident (and, worth noting, a donor to Promoting Responsible Government, a Howell PAC run by Deputy Mayor Robert Nicastro's wife), Mr. Nicastro stated that "municipalities cannot solve the problem of homelessness." Attorney Jeffrey Wild responded by citing New Jersey's POOR statute, indicating that not only did local authorities have a responsibility to help the poor, but that our state has laws on the books that mandate it.

Mr. Nicastro also expressed the sentiment that the homeless problem merely shifted from Lakewood (which housed the original tent city) to Howell, disregarding the reality that homelessness exists everywhere - likely because local governments tend to ignore the problem or, like Mr. Nicastro, regard their well-being as less important than their housed, taxpaying constituents.

In this commoner's opinion, conceding to provide the bare minimum to those in need and then seeking to repudiate the issue when the opportunity arises is indeed a skewed definition of "compassion."

Moreover, the attitude of Mr. Nicastro and Councilman Robert Walsh towards the homeless and their supporters can best be described as patronizing at best, and blatantly hostile at worst. I was aghast at their repeated attempts to gaslight various speakers, including a Destiny's Bridge board member whose education and moral integrity they challenged with a false claim that they never gave a deadline for the homeless to leave the property. I was further appalled when they insisted that "no progress" had been made in the eighteen months that the camp occupied the land. In a year's time, upon finding a safe place to call home, residents obtained jobs, found solace in caring for their own as well as communal space, and formed a genuine community of neighbors and friends - a community that these "compassionate" council members see fit to tear asunder in the name of benefiting Howell taxpayers.

As one member of the community-at-large - my mother, Terry Ferrara - stated to the council, "We are sick of politics. These are human beings - people's lives. They have a garden, and chapel, and each other to lean on. You need to keep that in mind while you're making your decision."

That, friends, is real compassion - the sense of empathy she raised me to have for my fellow man. Real compassion is not watered down or relinquished in the face of challenges. It stands to unite and encourage, not mock or demean - and to remind us what really matters.

I thank each and every person who attended last night's meeting in support of Destiny's Bridge and the homeless individuals in our care, for YOUR compassion as well. And I continue to hope against all hope that the people we voted into office not only reconsider the true definition of compassion, but choose to demonstrate it to all people, no matter their economic status or circumstances.

Uprooted

Imagine, if you will, what you would do if you for whatever reason, you found yourself cast out, ostracized, and disconnected from all you held dear - your family, your friends, your community. Whether it happened as the result of a choice you made, or because of circumstances beyond your control. Or perhaps others’ perception that you were no longer worthy to be a part of it.

If you have never experienced it, then you are among the rare and highly fortunate few. But again, try for just a moment to imagine your life without the people and things that define you. How painful and isolating that must be.

No matter our background, culture, or beliefs, I believe our common thread as human beings is our need to connect to one another. To have a sense of belonging, and a sense of community.

The notions of “home” and “neighbor” are so much more than just having a roof over one’s head. That is why the notion of the Howell homeless encampment, a community of the disenfranchised, being uprooted as the Lakewood tent city was years ago, rends my heart on a profound level.

Because I believe nearly every human being has, at some point in their lives, felt a sense of loneliness so powerful that it rocks the foundation of who we are. It makes us question and doubt ourselves and our very identity. After spending a good deal of time with the residents, I know that is what the people of Tent City are feeling right now.

That is why I call upon not only the leaders of Howell Township as well as the community at large to look deeply into your hearts, find it within yourselves step outside your respective comfort zones. And after you look deeply into your own hearts, raise your eyes, and without fear or reservation, look into the hearts of others. Get to know the people who comprise Destiny's Bridge. They are not as different from us as you may believe.

They have created a true community, an alternative to traditional homeless shelters - something sustainable, comprehensive, and dignifying. A sustainable community where people uphold and support one another - one that you can proudly say are YOUR neighbors.

I truly hope that the Howell community at large does not permit profits to come before people, and that Howell will continue to work with Destiny's Bridge towards a mutually beneficial solution.

Who Is My Neighbor?

On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

 —Luke 10:25-37

Who IS my neighbor? Well...there's the couple next door with the cute new puppy. The older gentleman whose wife volunteers at a local food pantry. The mom I always see at the bus stop with the purple hijab. The woman with the contagious laugh whose adult son owns a Triumph motorcycle.

I live in a small townhouse development, and I am fortunate know many neighbors, their kids, and their dogs on a first-name basis. As I took my daily walk and passed by the rows of houses, I thought about the neighbors who have come and gone; I thought of the families that sought to move up to something bigger and better as their families changed and grew.

A few people who were out and about with strollers or walking their pets stopped to chat. As much as I try to be a good neighbor, it seemed like the bare minimum at best, compared with another community I call "home:" a homeless encampment in Howell that I've begun to visit weekly.

Today we were gathered in the chapel for fellowship after the Sunday sermon, and I listened as one resident mused about how grateful she was to live in a place where she was never alone, where everyone helped one another, and save for the occasional disagreement or conflict, for the most part everyone gets along. In turn, their neighbors in the community - locals with compassion and generous hearts - would come to the camp and give what they could.

That, to me, sounded like a real neighborhood - at least the ones I'd seen in those golden-age TV sitcoms. And there was a time in my life when all the kids on the block played together until the street lights came on, and we left our doors open so neighbors could just walk on in for coffee and company. We weren't just neighbors; we were friends too.

In Luke 10:25-37, Jesus answers the lawyer's question with the parable of the Good Samaritan. And he reveals that the man who showed mercy to a stranger was a good neighbor.

As much as I marvel at technology, I also believe it has a way of making us less neighborly. As a species, we're already inclined to stay within our respective comfort zones, which seem to grow ever smaller with the passage of time. With new gadgets to occupy our attention, we grow increasingly disconnected from one another, even within our own homes. Like many parents, I've adopted the "no electronics during family meals" rule in my house without exception. It's beneficial to everyone, parents included, and it's necessary. I for one have a lot more to learn from connecting with my kids than I do from Google.

As of late, I'm also seeing social media driving friends, family, and neighbors further apart. Facebook, for example, is a hotbed of inflammatory political comments, relationship and family drama, and time-wasting nonsense. We forget that it's merely a tool, and we treat it as a lifestyle, replacing real-life interaction with the virtual variety. Meanwhile, the impersonal nature of online communication allows civility and basic decorum to be swept aside. We are so determined to make our virtual voice heard that we forget there are living, breathing, feeling human beings on the other end of the keyboard whose emotions are just as valid as our own.

We're not going to change the mind of a stranger, folks.

But we can - and should - reach out and touch the hearts of our neighbors.

I know who my neighbor is. Some of them know who I am too.

I want to be a better one. How about you?

Just A Little Patience

My world feels a lot more empty as of late.

Throughout my childhood and teen years, my maternal grandmother, Nanny, was my rock. She lived with us on and off from the mid-80s up to 2005, when she moved into her apartment. The last time I'd visited her, she was happy and alert. She gave Julia and me boxes full of clothes and shoes and assured Julia that she would inherit her collection of little angel figurines. When we left, I hugged her goodbye and told her I loved her and we talked about meeting for lunch. She said she would order Chinese food and I could come to her apartment on my lunch break or the weekend.

But she went into the hospital a few days later, where the doctors discovered she was terminal and gave her six months to live. She didn't even last six weeks. I was supposed to see her on a Sunday, but she died on Saturday morning. My mom had seen her the day before she passed, knew she was suffering, and told her it was OK to let go. Mom wasn't in the wrong; Nanny was tired and ready to leave this life. But, perhaps selfishly, I do wish she would have waited just one more day.

The weeks immediately following her death were a whirlwind: coming to my aunt's house immediately after the phone call, just before the coroner took Nanny away; the wake with the gathering of friends and family I hadn't seen in ages; the funeral where I'd sung her favorite song; sorting through photos and belongings and memories; wondering if mental paralysis was completely outside the realm of normal grieving; constantly reminding myself that the world wasn't about to grind to a halt to mourn along with me, as much as I wished it would at least slow down.

On Sunday, I was digging through a pile of papers, and I found a birthday card Nanny had sent me. I paused to read it, recollecting a time many years ago when I considered myself blessed that I'd never lost anyone close to me. I pondered how many experiences I've been forced to relegate to the past tense: having a father, having perfect health, being someone's true love, and now, having a grandmother. But, I thought, such is the nature of growing older. I put the card in my purse, and headed out to where I knew I would find solace.

I was a few minutes late, but undeterred, I ducked inside and sat in the back. The sermon centered on Esau selling his birthright for a mess of pottage, and on the notion of instant gratification - how often we choose to live in the moment, forsaking long-term gain for the sake of short-term satisfaction. Individuals who seek to mute their pain with drugs or other substances. Government officials who sell out human beings for profit and power. And I reflected on these things. I thought of all the times I'd found a smug sense of righteousness arguing with friends and strangers online about how ignorant I thought they were. I thought of the time I'd wasted on avoiding reality instead of confronting my problems, or ruminating on things I couldn't possibly change. When we bowed our heads to pray, the words of the Serenity Prayer seemed to whisper right to the core of my being: "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference."

I spent some time in fellowship with new acquaintances and familiar friends, then took a walk out to the prayer garden. The foliage had taken on drab winter tones; the pond bore crinkles of ice patches. I was greeted with the calls of chickadees and blue jays. I leaned against a nearby tree and took a deep breath, letting the calm of the afternoon settle into my soul.

Suddenly, a flash of red caught my eye. Two cardinals, a male and a female, had just landed in the brush on the left side of the pond.

I didn't have much time to activate the camera feature on my phone before they flew out of sight, but I managed to snap a picture as they were gathering branches and building what appeared to be a nest.

I marveled for a moment at how those little birds stood out from the gray of the sleeping woods, refusing to blend in with the scenery. They were, in the literal and metaphorical sense, the bright spot in an otherwise murky backdrop. Indeed, having appeared in the prayer garden, a little message from heaven.

I can't say for sure what it was, but it brightened my soul just as it brightened those woods.

Life indeed goes on.

A Grown-Up Christmas Wish

My two sons and I climbed the three little stairs into the house, adorned with a hand-drawn depiction of itself with the words "Home Sweet Home." Others that day followed suit. They had come to Faith Community Church in Bayville for Destiny's Bridge's "Hope for the Holidays" fundraiser despite inclement weather, and they had seen the tiny home up close. It had taken a good deal of effort and patience to get it to our event after one of the wheels on the home went flat and needed to be replaced. And so we appreciated its presence even more.

It is the pinnacle of our vision to help the homeless, supporting the notion of everyone, no matter their income, having a home of their own, because housing ought to be a right and not merely a privilege. That tiny home, however, does not have a home of its own at this time.

That morning, our area experienced the first winter storm of the season: a light snowfall mixed with frozen rain. It didn't pose much more than inconvenience for the average person, but for those living in tents, it required some diligence; the sheer weight of the precipitation could cause a tent to collapse.

Fast-forward to Christmas Day, when my sons and I delivered a feast to the Howell encampment that several of my friends call home. The little tree in the center of camp was lit and beautifully decorated; the donation tables were loaded with cups of soup, coffee, and packaged salads from earlier in the day. We all gathered in the chapel as the sun set; we ate, drank, talked and laughed. Their genuine gratitude paired with their interconnection - their reliance on one another as friends and neighbors - made us feel welcome. They reminded us that the greatest gift one can receive is presence.

It brought to mind thoughts of not only the true meaning of the holiday, but also the months ahead. When I consider my friends who live in tents, hearing others talk about the so-called "war on Christmas" gives me pause. I hear this often from well-meaning but misguided, along with phrases like "keep Christ in Christmas."

My thoughts? Perhaps the first step ought to be keep Christ in Christian, as opposed to Christmas. Christmas is one day a year, while being Christian is a lifelong commitment. Many, unfortunately, wish to wear the badge of Christianity without really knowing or understanding what it means to follow Christ.

It's hard for me to imagine that while they balk at the design of a paper coffee cup, or refuse to utter the phrase "happy holidays" because it somehow invalidates their own religious beliefs, they celebrate the birth and divinity of someone who came into this world as a refugee and lived his life as a homeless man. A man who healed the sick, gave sight to the blind, and fought for the rights of the poor and downtrodden. A man who was seen as a troublemaker by those who desired wealth and power.

After the trees and lights are taken down, after the songs of peace on earth and goodwill to men are relegated to silence, what exactly are Christians doing to ease the burden of the poor of their community who have resigned themselves to living in a tent?

Are they fighting to ensure that all people have a safe, secure place to call home? Are they speaking out against unfair zoning laws that discourage tiny homes, or against corporate greed that prevents workers from receiving a living wage? Are they reminding their government officials that every human being, despite their circumstances, deserves to have their basic needs met? Are they, as the saying goes, living simply so others can simply live?

Do they think throwing change into a beggar's cup while they hurry to pick up the newest iPhone is enough to fulfill their Christian duty?

Standing inside that empty house with my kids, I already knew the answer. It's not. It's definitely NOT enough.

If you're willing to fight for religious principles but not for justice and equality, then you've got Christianity all wrong. Jesus instructed. He healed. He lived a simple life, devoid of the extraneous and the wanton. His "religion," was love for His fellow man.

With Christmas behind us and the promise of a new year just ahead, perhaps we can hold these ideals in our hearts, thus keeping Christ in our Christianity. And as you celebrate surrounded by friends and loved ones, do not forget to keep in mind those who spend this holiday season in isolation.

The Great Divide

"I found a note with your name
And a picture of us
Even though it was framed
And covered in dust
It’s the map in my mind that sends me on my way

They say it’s never too late
To stop being afraid
And there is no one else here
So why should I wait?
And in the blink of an eye, the past begins to fade

So have you ever been caught in a sea of despair?
And your moment of truth
Is the day that you say, I’m not scared..."

-- Shinedown, "Unity"

Friends, take note: this is more than a comeback from a long hiatus, and more than a mea culpa for being divisive, stubborn, and unrelenting. I don't like to think of myself as part of the problem, but as an emotionally-driven person, I certainly can be. Admittedly, I will occasionally go to great lengths just to be heard at any cost.

However, too much negativity is toxic to a creative soul, and I'm still navigating the whole process of letting it go. Inhale, exhale, lather, rinse, repeat. And so, as inspiration begins to flow once again, here I am.

But, show of hands: how many of us, in life and/or social media, prefer to create an echo chamber of like-minded sentiment, shutting out anything that challenges our beliefs?

How many of us have sneered at opinions that don't match our own, dismissing the other party as uneducated, out-of-touch, ignorant, conformist, attempting to label and belittle their views, to demonize and otherwise cast "us" as superior and "them" in a light of wrongness?

Come on. Hands up.

Yep. I see you. That's a lot of hands.

Recently, I declared that friends, associates, and family would have avoid any sort of political discourse with me, lest they be ignored or ostracized. I made the decision to disassociate with those whose views starkly challenged my own.

Eventually, I realized that by refusing to listen, I am missing out on the opportunity to grow. And I am missing the connection I had with people in my life who, like me, just want to be heard.

It started with a very nice talk I had with Mom earlier today. We talked about the RNC and the upcoming election. And I came away with a better understanding of where people I don't agree with are really coming from.

One thing just about EVERY American agrees on: our nation, and our society, is horribly broken. We are disillusioned. We are frustrated. We are furious.

And we want change. Real change. No more empty promises, no more lip service, no more platitudes. People on all sides of the political spectrum figure until we do something completely different, it's going to remain that way.

The only thing separating us from real unity is how we believe these problems ought to be solved, and by whom.

For the record, I personally abhor everything Donald Trump says and everything he stands for. I don't believe in singling out blaming an entire race or religion for our problems. Nor do I think he has the intelligence, tact, or experience to fix our country. But you know what? I totally understand the appeal.

When people look at Trump, they see a major deviation from the status quo. First and foremost, that he is not a politician. And many have deduced that since traditional politicians cannot be trusted, someone who is not a politician and who doesn't adhere to conventional party lines (or political correctness), must be, by default, the "real" voice of the people. Moreover, Trump capitalizes on people's most basic fears and prejudices, and sells himself as the solution. He might be obnoxious, and he might represent the wealthy 1% and everything that is wrong with this country, but many Americans believe anything - even a billionaire reality TV sideshow - is better than another lying, corrupt, out-of-touch bullsh*t artist.

They aren't really voting for a candidate, but rather against a candidate. By supporting Trump, folks believe they're voting against corruption, division, and, more importantly, societal stagnation.

Truth be told, I think no matter who wins the election, it's going to be another case of "meet the new boss, same as the old boss." The type of change we need isn't just in our leadership.

Real, lasting change begins with us. With "we the people." With us realizing that the mass media (the true scourge on our society, in my opinion) and the powers that be on all sides are not ever going to operate in our best interests. With us, as individuals, learning to be a little more tolerant, a little less fearful, a little more giving, and a little less selfish. With us banding together, seeing past our differences, and with one voice crying out, "ENOUGH." With grassroots efforts, commitment to morality for the greater good, dialogue, and an unwavering sense of community, including the abolition of this all-pervasive us/them mentality.

That, friends, is what will bring about real change. I know we're all just struggling to survive, hold down a job, feed our kids, stay afloat in the murky waters of an uncertain future, vent our frustrations whenever and wherever we can in the vague hope that we will find someone to listen. But for the moment, what we change within ourselves and our own little corner of that world doesn't have to be monumental. It just has to be.

It can start with all of us doing a better job of listening to each other. No judgment, no accusations, no name-calling, no waiting to interject with our own words of presumptive so-called wisdom. Just listening, because every human being deserves to be heard. Simply heard.

Anything less, friends, will get us nowhere.

Starting today, I promise to do better. How about you?

Awakening

Since my first drive up that dirt road in 2013, people close to me had a lot of questions. What was it about that place in the woods that pulled me in so hard, inspired me, and transformed me? Why would I bother to fight a losing battle with the municipality and the government? And, knowing what I knew about the conditions there, and how Lakewood Township stole its morale, why in the world would I keep going back? Why, almost two years after it was shut down, does a big piece of my heart remain in those woods even now?

My mother in particular didn't fully grasp my newfound calling. But as a social-justice-minded Christian, as well as a former civil rights protester and child of the 60s, she always supported me, was always there to lend an ear and some solid advice. And even though she had no inclination to visit the homeless camps (largely due to mobility issues), when opportunities arose for her to help Destiny's Bridge, she jumped in and assisted in whatever way she could, even got her own prayer group on board. They were particularly instrumental in getting our first major fundraiser off the ground.

I don't blame people for their reaction. The sad truth is that most house-dwelling folks don't know what to say or do when they encounter a homeless person.

Yesterday, when Mom came to the Easter celebration for the homeless hosted by the Colonial Coffee Shop in Howell, she got it. I mean, really, really got it. She got to see the faces behind the stories and the names. She got to laugh and joke with them, dine with them, see and hear them. They were not invisible. They became real.

She met Hollywood John, and they had a conversation about music from the 1960s. She met Clarence, and he joked that she was his "future mother-in-law." She met Igor and complimented him on his woodworking skills, but wasn't sure if he'd heard or understood her. She was amused and touched by many of us - homeless and friends of the homeless - dancing and singing together.

After the event was over, she immediately started talking about planning another event, possibly a Memorial Day BBQ to honor homeless veterans. I loved the idea, and I loved her enthusiasm. Most of all, I loved what she said next: "They shouldn't be scattered like this. They need to be together again. They need each other, and they need a place where all the volunteers can get to them."

At that moment, I wished she would have seen Tent City - the Chapel, the "makeshift rooftops," the chickens up in the trees, the artists who found their respective muses there. There were more people I'd wished she'd gotten to meet. Some had since found housing. Some had moved out of the state. Some, like Doug, Dawn, Walter, and Marek, had passed on.

But in the people who once lived there, she saw, heard, and felt the soul of that place, and fully understood what it was all about.

Thanks to everyone who was a part of yesterday's celebration, and may your light continue to shine!