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.
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