My Journey through Homelessness Part Two: A Prayer that Released Me from Shame

My Journey through Homelessness Part Two: A Prayer that Released Me from Shame

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Commentary by Andy Pope | FāVS News

In the first column of this series, I mentioned that on July 17, 2016, I prayed fervently to be released from years of demeaning homelessness in the San Francisco Bay Area.

I also reported that ten days later, on July 27, 2016, I stepped off a bus in Moscow, Idaho, and have been inside ever since.

So how did this remarkable change of circumstance come to pass?

For one thing, the prayer I prayed on that night was of a different nature than any prayer I’d ever prayed before. I’d prayed lots of prayers when I was homeless, but never one like that.

For example, because I had developed a problem with a street drug during the last three years of homelessness, I often prayed I could get off of that drug.

Then there were the frequent prayers for protection and safety in my immediate situation, living outside. Many of my prayers were to the effect I would simply get through the night.

I prayed about the types of people with whom I associated. I prayed I would get along in crowded living situations with the many people who surrounded me there. When I was outside, I must have prayed hundreds of times that God would release me from the continual company of street people, and somehow place me among artists, writers and musicians — among people more like me.

In a bizarre combination of desperation and wishful thinking, I often told God that all I needed was “a lock on a door, a window, and a power outlet.”

But I’d never flat-out prayed God would deliver me from homelessness itself, until that night.

Why is this? Well, for starts, I had fallen into the same trap as most of the rest of society. We see an unhoused person, and we wonder what their problem is. Why and how did they become homeless? Were they a drug addict? An alcoholic? Did they have a mental health breakdown? What did they do wrong?

The continual sense of shame that pervades the consciousness of the one who is outside, that feeling of being “less than” the people who are inside, feeds this deception. Even for those who are homeless, it’s remarkably easy to overlook the basic fact that their primary problem is they don’t have a roof over their head.So I, like others in my midst, kept thinking that if I could solve some other problem of mine, then maybe I would no longer need to be homeless.

But that didn’t work. Trips to rehabs and psych wards did not solve the homeless problem. I would get out of those places, and be just as homeless as I was before I went in. There was something else about homelessness that still beckoned me. What was it?

Simply put, while I do my best to get along with most people whom I meet in this world, I don’t get along with them if I have to live with them. My home — whether inside or out — has got to be my castle. Otherwise, I cease to function as myself.

So how did I get out of it?

First off, it involved moving to Idaho, where my current one-bedroom apartment rents for $490, and no longer being in the Bay Area, where the best of my rented rooms went for $600, surrounded by multiple fallible neurotic people like myself.

A one bedroom apartment in San Francisco currently rents for upwards of $3,000. That’s over six times what I have to pay here in Idaho. So it made sense for a person of my sensibilities to get out of the Bay Area — and Idaho sounded pretty good to me.

But how did I make the decision to do this?

The trick was fairly simple, once I latched onto it. I had to suddenly let go of years of guilt and shame — of feeling “less than” those who lived inside, and therefore unworthy of indoor residence.

I first let go of that shame when I first rose up from that prayer.

So I write these words in deference to the many people reading this who do not believe in God. Or, if you do believe in God, perhaps you don’t believe in my God. To whoever reads this, consider that I write these words as a tribute to the human spirit.

When I got up from my knees, it was approximately ten after midnight. The air was still and clear in Redwood City, California, a city who prides itself on having the clearest air on the Bay Area Peninsula.

I said to myself: “If God never heard another prayer I’ve ever prayed, I’m sure He heard that one.”

And then, I took action.

“So, I’m finally going to finally get out of homelessness,” I told myself. “Where do I begin?”

At that moment, I remembered a certain acquaintance of mine — a fellow music teacher who, unlike me, had not fallen on hard times. This fellow, who will remain unnamed, had continued to teach, until it came time for him to retire. Then, he received both a hefty retirement and a large inheritance.

Of course, I did not know he had become well-off. I remembered him when our financial differences had never entered into the picture. Our conversations were full of music, and occasionally we went running together. At times, I subbed for him as a pianist at his Baptist church.

But then, I became homeless. He wanted to help me out, but it seemed I had lost my mind. By and by, our relations were strained because of my drug problem.

But now, I had gotten off the drugs — however tentatively. For I had stopped on June 15 of that year — one of the many times I stopped because I had run out of money. But this time I got to where I had an unprecedented 13 days of sobriety when my Social Security check arrived on the 28th of that month. So I messaged my sponsor in Narcotics Anonymous, a Lutheran pastor named Cary.

“Pastor Cary,” I wrote, “I just got my check. I believe I should leave Berkeley immediately.”

“I think that would be very wise,” he replied. “Every time you go back to pay your drug debts, the dealers entice you back into the game.”

“I know,” I said. “I don’t like owing money, but in this case, I better value my sobriety and my life.”

So I hopped on a BART train and took it to the small Peninsula town called Burlingame, where I knew they had an all-night donut shop. I parked at Royal Donuts and stayed sober, in a town where I had no connections.

Eventually a cop rousted me out of sleeping spot behind the local library, and escorted me to the shelter in Redwood City, the one where I caught the flu I described in the first column of this series.

Now exasperated with my lot, I rose up from the prayer I had prayed with such fervor, and remembered my friend, the fellow piano player.

The next day, I found a pay phone and called him up. Thankfully, he answered.

Discerning I was sober, he told me of his good fortune, and then stated he would get me a one-way ticket to anywhere in the world where I felt I could get a fresh start — since after all, my reputation in the Bay Area was pretty much shot.

Knowing I wasn’t ready to leave the U.S., I started googling keywords in search of a town I might call home.

I noticed something as I engaged this process. I was no longer thinking of myself as a homeless person. For the first time in years, I was thinking of myself simply as a person.

You would have to feel the difference to know how huge it is. The shame was being lifted from my spirit.

First I googled “college town.” For one thing I had found exhilarating about Berkeley was the University atmosphere. Then I googled “affordable rent.”

Places like Portland came up. My friend then suggested I shoot for a smaller town, knowing that in Bay Area cities, I’d had five laptops stolen in the past three years.

So I threw in “small town” and “low crime rate.” Having a preference for colder temperatures, I put in “cold weather.”

At around about that time, Moscow, Idaho, started coming up in the Google search.

“Hey, what a trip!” I exclaimed. “I was born there!”

As I’ve said before, I knew nothing about this town except that there was some college here — for my dad, a career Navy man, had been stationed here in order to teach ROTC at the University. And I had only lived here for the first 15 months of my life.

Taking a leap of faith, I emailed my friend with some pictures of an extremely low rental in a converted residence hotel.

“How much do you think that would go for in the Bay Area?” I asked him.

“Oh, about $900,” he replied.

“Try $275,” I told him.

“We’re on!” he shouted.

Before I knew it, he was meeting me at the Transbay Terminal with credit card in hand. To the tune of a mere $200, I got a one-way to Moscow, Idaho, and shortly thereafter began a new life.

Now there’s a lot more to this journey that needs to be told — and I’m sure you have a few questions. But I wanted to first express what happened in those critical ten days between July 17 and July 27, 2016.

What happened was not only a course of decisive action between two like-minded men, it was also a course in faith.

The person who made those choices, who took those actions, was not the person who first fell on his knees and prayed that prayer.

What God did for me when I asked for deliverance from homelessness, was to give me deliverance from shame.

The prayer was prayed by a person who believed himself to be inferior to the others in his midst. When the prayer was answered, that person believed himself to be equal to everyone around him.

Before I prayed that prayer, I was a homeless person.

On its answer, I became a person instead.

If you’re interested in the other parts of the series, here’s “Part One: Turnstiles and the Night Sky,” “Part Three: A New Pair of Glasses,” “Part Four: Body Armor” and “Part Five: Learning to Live Outside the Box.”

The views expressed in this opinion column are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of FāVS News. FāVS News values diverse perspectives and thoughtful analysis on matters of faith and spirituality.