Walk in the Woods
Vol IV: #33 Her Name Is Adrienne
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.
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.
Journal: #328 What’s Your Favorite City?
I’m not a teenager seduced by a big city. The lights and food options are boring (not really, but it’s not a huge factor as it was.) Who cares what the food is like if I spend my life battling traffic or doing actual human shit on the sidewalk? Life for me is about people. How can anyone live when we spend so much of our lives in a car? We don’t. That’s the truth.
16-year-old Nik would be shocked at 41-year-old me. He wants to know what happened, what changed? 16-year-old Nik loved cities and dreamed of living in New York one day. He was enamored with the smelly streets, towering buildings, and endless ways to spend money. That boy grew into a man who still loved cities, but then something happened.
Today I asked a man “what’s your favorite city?” This question seemed natural in the context of our conversation. He was a random stranger we (David and I) encountered in line, waiting to get into the World War 2 museum. In the span of a few minutes, our new friend told us how often he moved in his youth. The man went to three different high schools. Hence my question. (DC was his answer.) I half expected him to ask the same question back, but he didn’t. I mentally answered the question anyway, and my reply shocked me.
Redding? Really? Not New York? Charleston or San Francisco? Nope, nope, and nope. Redding. Yes, that Redding. Redneck, too conservative for its own good, hot as balls Redding. Wow. I know. I know. How does Redding compare to San Francisco? Or Austin? It doesn’t. You can’t compare Redding to any major city. It’ll fail every time. I think what it is I appreciate Redding most of any city.
I’m not a teenager seduced by a big city. The lights and food options are boring (not really, but it’s not a huge factor as it was.) Who cares what the food is like if I spend my life battling traffic or dodging actual human shit on the sidewalk? Life for me is about people. How can anyone live when we spend so much of our lives in a car? We don’t. That’s the truth.
When I say Redding is my favorite city, what I mean is I appreciate it the most. If I can convince my mom to retire and move there, it’ll be perfect for me.
Journal: #240 Headed Back to Redding
When I arrived I thought my dad would be knee deep in cancer treatments. Turns out, the doctors continue to order tests. So we’ve waited, which is not awesome when the attacker is cancer.
It’s my last night in Columbia. I’ll be back in three weeks, but I am sad nonetheless. When I arrived I carried hope with me. As I head back to California that hope is still alive, but I feel guilty. My heart and spirit are ready for the journey west. Redding is my home. I miss it. I miss the slow traffic, chill culture, and the slow topped mountains. I’m looking forward to my solitary strolls in the forest and youthful friends. Redding is the place I grew into a man, a faithful God-loving man. If I could pack my parents in my bad I would.
When I arrived I thought my dad would be knee deep in cancer treatments. Turns out, the doctors continue to order tests. So we’ve waited, which is not awesome when the attacker is cancer. Aside from its general destructive of healthy cells, it also robs its prey of time. It robs us of hope and disrupts our lives, demanding attention better wasted on a beach or backyard swing. As previously stated, I still have as much hope as I did the day I arrived. It’s the waiting, the tests and more tests, and every little unanticipated turn. It’s a sort of exile where making plans seems premature, yet necessary. That’s what wears me down.
Hope and faith are essential to walk with the Lord, especially in moments such as these. Every step of the process is as it should be. I can’t change what has happened. I can make room for the Lord to be God and choose to believe it’s not all about me. Hope and future are gifts the Lord promises to us in the midst of every furnace. We aren’t alone struggling through it. The Father is at hand in every situation if we have faith to latch onto to Him. So, Lord, be with me as I travel back to Redding. Bless my steps and my words. Guide my heart into fertile fields of joy and peace. Heal my parents and love them. Shout your love and approval over their lives, and lift them upon the Rock of your grace.
Amen.