Scratch that, this is me we're talking about so I'm not really that surprised at all.
I've been thinking and writing still but haven't felt like my thoughts reached a blog-worthy level of completeness. And also I'm lazy :)
I'm back in Denver (at last!) and had the chance for the first time since I've been back to sit on the front porch and soak in the city again. As captivated as I am by the city lights and mountains on the horizon, my attention was drawn to a man across the street who was taking shelter under the library awning during a brief (and much needed) downpour. I can't claim to be super involved in the homeless outreach here or in KC for that matter. I can't boast of my knowledge of laws or actions to change them. I can only share the musings of my disturbed spirit and hope that maybe by planting it in words it will begin to grow in my life as something more. I hope that as you read this it will not feel "judgy" or self-righteous because it is honestly directed at myself more than any other. I also cannot pretend to know or comprehend what it is really like to live on the street, so forgive my conjectures. Here it is.
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Move Along
A broken man rests but his broken spirit can’t.
Another sleepless night under the flag of the state that has failed him.
He can’t claim even the unyielding bars of the iron bench as home
“Move Along.” Yes, Sir. but move along to...?
Where can he go to find rest?
Where can he hide to find peace?
Where can he sleep to dream of a better life than this?
He struggles to remember what it was like to have a dresser to keep his clothes in
Instead of a worn out drawstring trash bag.
He grasps at the lingering recollection of belonging,
Of knowing where to land when his day was done.
He belongs with the displaced now.
The ones who don’t fit into the mold of consumerism and “productivity.”
The ones judged from the comfort of heated leather seats.
It’s his fault right?
He messed up. He made mistakes. He has earned this for himself.
These are but words on the page of the stories we write to write off our guilt and awkwardness.
The system is failing because we fail to be the system of change.
We’d rather get the dirt on Kim Kardashian than get dirty helping the untouchables.
We’d rather plug in to our iPhones than help a broken brother or sister get plugged in to a community where their needs will be met.
I wish that Policeman across the street would direct his advice to the ones who really need to hear it.
I wish he would knock on our doors and as we arouse ourselves from our abundance remind us,
It’s time for us to move.
I am so blessed to be in the company of so many hearts that have been called to action and thank all of those in my sphere who are moving to make change and be Christ's love to the unwanted. You are incredible.
Peace and love to you all!
~Kate
