Providence

 Being homeless was an adjustment to say the least.  Breakfast was at the Mission.  Lunch was on your own, but there was a soup kitchen you could go to and get a free meal.  Dinner would be at the Mission.  It was not a wonderful meal, but it would be enough to get by.  There was a move afoot by some people to get be into a safer environment, and that was the Providence Home.

 It was primarily a place for veterans with addiction issues, but they had other rooms, too.  I had been out trying to find a job and was dressed for success.  My brother picked me up and took me to the Providence Home to be interviewed.  He let me off, and I went inside to their office.  A man showed me around the property.  We went upstairs in a housing building, and he showed me the room, where I would sleep.  I would room with another guy.  He then showed me the bathroom on a hall.  He said that you only had a minute to shower.  If you went longer than that, they would turn off the water.  I asked about securing my stuff in a locker, and he said they didn't have those.  He said that my stuff could be fair game for others in the building.  He took me back downstairs and said that everyone was expected to work on the property.  You could either cook or clean.  I would also have to find a job to pay for the bed.  I was not very keen on all of that.  After all, I could have a bed at the Mission for free, and I didn't have to cook or clean.  I asked the man if there was a place that I could change from my good clothes into jeans for my trip back to the Mission.  He said that I could go into the weight room.  It had all glass doors.  I tried to go behind one of the machines so as to not be seen from the outside.  I then realized the man was behind me and watched me change.  How uncomfortable was that?  I told them thanks but no thanks.

 I also went back to First Baptist to see if a minister was available to talk to.  I got the a Students minister.  I cried some more talking to him.  My nerves were about shot during this time.  I knew God wanted me to do something, because He had told me so, but the change to basically hanging out on the street or the library was very traumatic.  The minister listened, and then was very honest to me.  He said that he didn't know anything about what I was going through, but he would pray with me.  He prayed.  I cried.  He then gave me a Sonic gift card.  I gave it to a homeless friend, because I don't like Sonic's food.  The minister took me to see a woman who handled benevolence for the church.  The woman was one of the two who asked how I was doing, when my mother had her stroke in 1991.  She told me of some programs that the church could help me with, but I would have to become a member first.  I was also introduced to some of the other staff members.  They were very nice to me.  I also met a man down there named Mike.  He was a deacon in the church.  He invited me to come to his Sunday School class, which turned out to have about 175 members and met in the choir's rehearsal room.  Mike also invited me to come on Fridays to the Baptist Hospital cafeteria's meeting room for a Men's prayer breakfast.  I agreed.  I was becoming more comfortable with First Baptist again.

 After I left the church that day, I had one more call to make.  I called my friends in St. Matthews to see if I could come stay with them.  They were like my second family.  They had basically adopted me, after my parents had moved to Laurens.  I practically begged them to let me come live down there, but they said no.  The Mission was going to be my home for a while.  With some 70 of my closest friends.

Oliver

  The next day, I woke up with a new found hope that I would find a job.  My brother told me about a part-time position he had heard about at the Oliver Gospel Mission, which was a Christian-based homeless shelter.  I really wasn't interested in part-time work, but something was better than nothing.  He took me down there to interview for the job.

 When I walked in, I saw somebody behind the glass sitting at a desk.  I told him that I was here for the part-time job.  He told me to come into the room behind the glass and sit.  He told me that the job was for a guy to sit behind the glass during the day and welcome anyone coming in the door.  That sounded pretty easy.  He then asked me to tell him about myself.  I went into the education and work history.  I had my resume with me.  He then asked about my Christian life.  I told him about seminary and the events of the night before.  He then said that it sounded like I didn't need the job.  He said I needed to stay at the Mission.  What?  Me stay at a homeless shelter?  He said that they had a program called "Hand Up", which helped men stay there for free while looking for jobs.  He then took me on a tour of the facility.  I saw a room with around 14 bunk bed sets that had lockers.  There was a bathroom with a couple of sinks and toilets.  There was also a shower.  He showed me where I would be sleeping.  It was a top bunk in the middle of the room.  He told me to come back later in the day to sign some papers, if I was interested in staying there.

 I didn't know what to do.  I didn't have a job.  No money.  I really didn't have a place to live.  I couldn't live with my brother forever.  I walked around downtown praying to God.  I found myself in front of the First Baptist Church.  I had sworn 20 years ago that I would never set foot in that church again, after my experience with my mother's stroke.  And apart from going to a funeral for a friend, I had kept my promise.  The funeral was for a girl named Gayle Anderson, who I had grown up with in church and school.  She had encouraged me in 8th grade to rise above the bullies and do creative stuff like acting and writing.  Gayle had died from lung cancer and never smoked a day in her life.

 It was around noon.  I felt like I needed to get spiritual guidance, so I went inside the church to the office to see a minister.  As I opened the door, I got an overwhelming feeling that I had come home. When I walked in, I told the secretary I needed to see a minister.  She told me that all of the ministers were at lunch.  I needed to talk to somebody.  She said there was a guy on the maintenance staff who was studying to be a minister.  I thought that was better than nothing.  He came into the office, and I was ushered into a room with a desk and two chairs.  For the next hour, he listened to me bawl like a baby.  I just cried and mumbled stuff about having lost it all.  I told him through the tears what had happened the night before in my state of depression; with my almost killing myself; and with hearing God's voice telling me to stop.  He had more things for me to do.  I told him about singing "I Surrender All" over and over.  I was exhausted from crying.  I knew I had to let go all of the mess inside my mind.  He just listened.  When the hour was up, he said that God had brought us together.  He told me that he had been homeless and was getting back on his feet by going to school and having the job at the church.  I knew immediately that God was controlling me.  If I had not gone into the church that morning at that time, then what?  If I had gone into the church at another time, I would have spoken to a minister who may not have understood what was going on in my life.  But, He knew me, and He knew this man.  I knew what I had to do.

 I went back to Oliver that afternoon after the man took me out to eat.  I told the guy behind the glass that I would sign the papers.  The agreement for the program was that I would attempt to find work at least twice a week.  He gave a paper to me that I could use to log my job search.  In return, I could stay at Oliver for up to six months.  I wouldn't have to pay for the bed or for food.  That sounded pretty good to me.  I called my brother and told him of my decision.  He picked me up and took me back to his house to pack.  I had a duffle bag of clothes and toiletries.  He took me back to Oliver and dropped me off.  I went inside and put my stuff up in a locker and got ready for supper.

 The line for supper snaked through a small hallway into a dining room.  There were around 50-75 homeless men in the room.  The food was pretty good.  After supper, they had us go outside and wait to come back into the dining room.  By now, they had moved the tables away and left the chairs.  It was chapel time.  Some of the guys sang old timey gospel music.  Then, there was a man at the front who did a 30-minute sermon.  Some guys slept through it.  I listened.  When that was over, we all stood in a line to take a breathalyzer test.  If you failed, you couldn't stay the night.  I passed.  We were given a sheet, a washcloth, and a towel and headed on upstairs to our bunk room.  The guys wanted to know about me.  They gave me the nickname of "Pops", because I was the oldest one in the room of 28 men.  I was 55.  

 One of the rules at the mission was that you had to shower at night before going to sleep.  To get to the shower, you had to go down a short and narrow hallway.  It was barely big enough for two people to fit.  Some of the guys there had formerly been in jail.  Apparently, there was a rule in jail not to touch someone else while walking by them.  It would be a sign of some sexual overtones.  I didn't know that rule.  I brushed against a guy who went off at me.  He pushed me back and told me he was going to kill me.  He was yelling and cursing at me.  Some guys grabbed hold of him.  He was screaming that he was going to kill me.  I screamed back, "Go ahead, I've got nothing to lose."  I started at him.  He was trying to break free of the guys holding him.  Some other guys grabbed me and pulled me back.  Each group told the both of us to calm down.  And then, it was explained to me what I had done, and I apologized.  Sleep was pretty tough that night.

 The next morning, I saw that guy sitting near the Art Museum.  I went over to him and apologized again.  He apologized to me for going off on me.  We got to talking, and I found out he was from NYC.  We became friends.  It is better to make friends than enemies, especially in such tight quarters.

Surrender

  The next day, my brother took me to the AAA garage.  We were to meet with a junk dealer.  He gave me $35 for my car and hauled it away.  I had a lot of great memories in that car.  A lot of places we went together.  Now, it was gone.  

 My brother then took me out to Harbison to look for a job.  He left me to walk that road from one end to the other.  I went into just about every store looking for work.  No one was hiring due to the recession.  It would have been nice to have a sidewalk to be on, but the entire way was grass.  (It still is)  I went from Best Buy to Kohl's with no success.  The employees at Ashley Furniture laughed at me, when I went into their store.  No one was hiring.

 As I left there, I saw a city bus turning left onto St. Andrews Road.  I yelled out to the driver to see if she could pick me up.  She pointed to a stop across the street, and I ran through traffic to get there.  It was the first time I had been on a city bus in years.  After a couple of transfers, I got downtown and caught another bus back to my brother's house.  During my journey, I ran into a "friend".  She told me that if my parents were alive, this situation of mine would kill them.  She also told me that they were turning over in their graves over my situation.  This comment put me into a deep round of depression.

 After supper that night, I went upstairs to the guest bedroom in my brother's house.  I tore a sheet and fashioned a noose around my neck.  I squeezed the sheet tight around my neck.  I had nothing left to live for.  I didn't have a car.  I couldn't find a job.  I had no money.  My parents were turning over in their graves.  Tighter and tighter, I made the sheet.  I had heard that one loses consciousness before dying when suffocating.  I knew that from my close call in the freezer at White Oak.  It is the body's way of making you comfortable.  I was about to pass out, when I heard an audible voice.  The voice said, "Stop!  I have more for you to do."  There was no one in the room but me.  I knew that voice.  I had heard it before.  When I was called to the seminary.  When I was doing something that I shouldn't do.  When I needed comfort.  I knew that voice.

 Then, a song came into my mind.  I knew the song from growing up in the church.  We sung it during invitations at the end of services.  The song was "I Surrender All".  I heard those words in my head:  "All to Jesus I surrender, All to Him I freely give; I will ever love and trust Him, In his presence daily live.  I surrender all, I surrender all;  All to thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all.  All to Jesus I surrender, Make me, Savior, wholly thine; Let me feel thy Holy Spirit, Truly know that thou are mine.  I surrender all, I surrender all, All to thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all.  All to Jesus I surrender, Lord, I give myself to thee; Fill me with thy love and power, Let thy blessing fall on me.  I surrender all, I surrender all, All to thee, my blessed Savior, I surrender all."

 I began to sing that song in hushed tones.  I could barely whisper from the effects of the sheet.  I began to cry uncontrollably.  I kept singing that song through my tears, over and over, until I fell asleep.  I didn't know what God wanted me to do, but I had a spiritual awakening.  Events like seeing a vision of Heaven at Camp Greenville.  Meeting those kids at Kilbourne Park.  Having that vision of a family at Anderson College.  Writing Bible-character monologues and puppet shows for kids.  God had something for me to do.  One thing that I know for a fact is that God speaks to people all the time.  You just have to listen.

Motel

  I was just about done moving my stuff to the storage unit in Columbia.  I rented a van from Enterprise to get the rest of the stuff, including my bed frame, some speakers, and other things.  I wanted to be able to put some clothes and essentials in my car for the last trip.  The day I got the van, there was snow on the ground.  

 After getting back with the van, it was time to say goodbye to Greenville.  It was sad for me, because I loved it so much, but it was time to go.  My car wasn't running too well.  The gears were slipping, but I had to just suck it up and leave.  I didn't have a place to live in Columbia, but I heard about a motel with free wi-fi on Forest Drive that had weekly rates and was cheap.  The Marlboro Inn

 I got a room and unpacked my car.  It was cheap.  A bed, TV and microwave was the order of the day.  I found out early on that the free wi-fi was turned on for an hour in the afternoon, when the manager's daughter needed it to do her homework.  I was close enough to the public library to use their wi-fi for other times.  I sat in my car behind Forest Lake Shopping Center to do that.  I stayed at the Marlboro Inn for two weeks, until I heard about the In-Town Suites on Broad River Road.

 It cost about the same as the Marlboro, but they had round the clock wi-fi.  They had a bed, TV, and kitchenette, so I was moving up in the world.  My room faced the back end of the Boozer Shopping Center, so I woke up to the sound of garbage trucks collecting the trash from their dumpsters.  The walls were paper thin.  One night, I heard a man beat up a woman.  I think she died, because the police came and questioned me on what I had heard.  I knew it was time to leave there after a week.

 I then moved across town to the Masters Inn on Knox Abbott Drive in Cayce.  I ended up staying there for about six months.  The weekly rate was slightly more, but I was within walking distance of the grocery store and Wendy's.  What more could you ask for?  Their rooms were nicer than the previous two, and they had washing machines on the premises.  The only drawback was that it was next door to the Brookland Cayce High School field, which is where their band practiced early in the morning.  Instead of garbage trucks, I woke up to the sound of drums and trumpets. It was there that I saw that Farrah Fawcett had died, and then Michael Jackson.  That was a very sad day.  By now, my car was leaking oil.  A friend suggested that I take it to her mechanic.  They told me that there was a hole in the engine block, and it would cost $3200 to fix.  I didn't have that kind of money.  I had used up most of the $5000 I got from my friend to pay for motels.  The mechanic told me that I would have to put in a quart of oil every time I drove my car.  I went to an auto supply store and bought a case of oil.

 The first of September 2009, I ran out of money for the motel.  I checked out of the motel; loaded up my stuff in my car; put a quart of oil in the engine; and drove over to Columbia Mall to look for a job.  Some friends had offered to pay for another week at the In-Town Suites for me.  Nobody was hiring.  I decided to head over to the In-Town Suites from there on I-20.  It wasn't too far, plus the oil light didn't come on, so I thought I could make it over there.  I got down to the Main St. exit, when my car started to smoke.  I pulled off of the exit.  I heard a boom.  The engine had blown up.  Smoke was everywhere.  I got the car to a safe spot off the side of the road up the exit ramp and called AAA.  They came and towed my car to their office on Forest Drive.  The initial diagnosis there was that my car was dead, and it would cost more to fix it than it was worth.  I called my brother, and he came and got me to take me to his house.  Being materialistic such as I was, I had felt I had lost it all.