Vol IV: #33 Her Name Is Adrienne
Some mornings, perhaps once or twice every week, I don’t go into the prayer chapel. Instead, I park my car near the eastern facing edge of the parking lot facing Mount Lassen. At first the a line strip of light shines like a halo over the mountain. Then the strip will grow tall and white as it pushes the blackness back. Finally, the sun emerges from beneath the mountain. In between glimpses of the sunrise, I pray and read and journal. It’s a gloriously serene way to start my day.
A week ago, the morning was warm enough to roll my window down as I sat and watched the day begin. And toward the end of my hour, I heard an usual racket coming from the direction of the chapel behind me. I turned to my left and heard more clearly the sounds of an altercation in progress. A homeless woman, who called herself Adrienne, and two security guards stood near her Toyota Rav 4. Apparently, she was asked to leave the premises and did not take kindly to the request. What started with simple shouts of LEAVE ME ALONE, CALL MIKE, and HE KNOWS ME, ended with FUCK YOU MOTHERFUCKERS and I AM LEAVING YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I listened to the entire fracas and I my heart ripped at the result. A younger me would’ve judged the security guards or that lonely woman, but in this moment I just felt compassion for all involved.
The defensive woman I recognized from months before. She’d discovered the restrooms at the prayer chapel and came to (I assume) bathe in them. She always backed her car into the last spot at the far corner of the lot. And when she finished in the restroom Adrienne hustled back to her car. This sequence repeated itself every morning for three weeks. Then she stopped coming, that is until last week.
Given the anger and defensive posture of Adrienne’s words, I assume the darkly dressed guards asked to search her vehicle. The beige Toyota was, as always, backed into the far spot. Adrienne asserted her right to refuse a search at which the taller guard said “those type of rights don’t exist on private property.” He is, of course, correct. A church is not a public place. It’s a home. And what is a home but a private place for a man or woman to be exactly who they want to be, believe whatever they want to believe. If a person or church doesn’t want drugs on the campus, they have the right to enforce that boundary.
Yes. Adrienne’s situation is heart breaking. The woman lives in her car with her cat. In truth, compared to others in Redding’s homeless community, she’s on the upper end. It’s likely she maintains the vehicle and cat through a mix of welfare benefits and tricks. That’s my guess. Thing is, I’m willing to bet she rides up the hill to Bethel because she knows it’s safe and secure. No enclaves of squatters in tents or annoying cops up the hill, only well groomed lawns and gardens, clean bathrooms, and people going about their business. Unfortunately, she doesn’t understand that peace and order exist because Bethel is willing to enforce boundaries and rules. Security didn’t pick on her because she’s homeless. They asked her to leave because they didn’t want her doing drugs on the property.
Still, I can read my words, know Bethel security did the right thing, and yet my heart goes out to Adrienne. What a sad reality. Next, I ask shouldn’t a church be more tolerant of homeless people? Isn’t this embarrassing? Surprisingly, I snap, NO! Shocked by my reply I wonder Where’s my compassion? Then I stew on it and an argument forms. Maybe it’s because I’m tired of stepping over needles and feeling like a I need to carry pepper spray or brass knuckles. Or perhaps I’m tired of dodging crackheads at the grocery store. And to be fair, I’m not judging anybody. But these people, these special children of God, need a love that says No, you can’t bring that shit in here.
