The Walk

Yesterday evening, a fellow advocate informed me that one of our homeless friends, Ted, had been hospitalized after a bout with the flu caused pneumonia, which resulted in a collapsed lung. He'd been on a ventilator for nearly a week, and there was little hope of recovery. They were talking about "pulling the plug" if he did not improve.

I used to visit Ted regularly when he lived in a nearby camp. He had a fantastic, goofy sense of humor and never failed to make us laugh. He loved to tell stories, especially of his hunting escapades and his misadventures on his beloved dirt bike. Whenever any of us came by with a meal, coffee, blessing bags or warm blankets, he was always so gracious and appreciative.

I went to the hospital with a friend to see Ted today, not sure of what to expect, and quite honestly, I was feeling uneasy, even scared. The thought of seeing this usually jovial, feisty man hooked up to machines and tubes was unnerving. We were told he was heavily sedated and might not even know we were there. 

But when we reached the ICU, we were met with a very pleasant surprise.

He still had his oxygen and feeding tubes, but three hours earlier, they'd removed the ventilator. And even though he was still coming off the sedatives, his entire face lit up when he saw us. He lifted his hand to reach for mine, and I only wished I could have hugged him proper at that moment.

Despite some difficulty communicating, it was clear to us that he was on the mend: joking, cussing, asking the pretty young nurse if he could please have some breakfast, unaware that it was already dinnertime. She said no; he would have to wait until the next day; aspirating on solid food was still a concern.

There's still the question of what awaits him once he is released - if he will resume his life on the streets, or if Ted's miracle is only just beginning. But for now, we took comfort in his recovery, and we continued pray for his continued healing.

Hills, valleys, slopes, rocks, puddles, and landings: that is the nature of the walk.

It is a handful of success stories. The man who moved in with his cousin in California and, to this day, hand-writes letters to his New Jersey friends. The young mom who left her abusive relationship and sings at her church. The couple who worked and saved their way from a tent to a new apartment. The animal activists who, with the help of like-minded advocates, found a home down south with an acre of property so they can tend to their furry and feathered family.

It is frustration. The myriad of people who received a year of housing under the consent order that closed Tent City, but who ended up back on the street or in the woods. The struggle between honoring the humanity and dignity of every individual, regardless of circumstances, and wondering how much is genuine help, and how much is enabling. Watching people deteriorate from substance abuse, wondering what sort of demons they are compelled to drown, numb, or feed. Learning to forgive the toughest ones - the defensive souls who lash out like rabid dogs, the master manipulators to whom empathy is merely a weakness to be exploited. And realizing they, however flawed, are human too.

It is introspection. Realizing how just one choice, one catastrophe, one stroke of bad luck, can mean the difference between a roof over one's head and a flimsy cot in a rain-soaked tent. Looking at one's own life with newfound, overwhelming gratitude. Admitting that sweating the small stuff, life's little inconveniences, is time spent poorly. Wondering if my kids are absorbing the lessons of our encounters with the homeless, and feeling proud when, in ways great and small, they demonstrate principles of charity and generosity in their own lives, to all who cross their respective paths. 

It is profound compassion rooted not only in what we feel, but in faith. The full realization that, in the words of Katherine Henson, "having a soft heart in a cruel world is courage, not weakness." It is possessing such a heart, one that has borne slings and arrows of the worst kind, but beats on, driven by a fierce, unrelenting, life-affirming love. It is leaning on one another as brothers, sisters, confidantes, and healers, and on He who has brought us this far, giving us the strength to soldier on.

This is not the life I've chosen, but the day I followed my heart down an unpaved road in the Pinelands, this life chose me.

Days like today, I'm thankful that it did.