The Bag Lady

By Michael Valencia

I first saw the woman in the early morning hours, as she stretched out on a bus stop bench at the Brea Mall.

She was what people would refer to as a bag lady. She had a two wheeled push carts filled with her belongings. She was layered in tattered clothing. Her legs were swollen and wrapped in what I would later find out were tampons to absorb the fluids oozing from open sores. She appeared to be asleep, mumbling to herself in an apparent nightmare.

As I watched, standing nearby with some restaurant workers who had just gotten off work, she woke up and started screaming: "Stop attacking me, you damn Mexicans!" We all took a few steps back and looked at each other, shaking our heads. What can you do, other than ignore this person's anguish?

What are you gonna do? I had my own problems.

A year earlier, while riding a bicycle in Long Beach, I had been struck by a van. I had no health insurance, and the guy who hit me didn't have car insurance or money. I got stuck with a $115,000 hospital bill for a month's stay. The docs had done a great job patching me up. I had residual pain from the back injuries and the torn rotator cuff, but I had learned how to meditate the pain away without pain killers.

I recovered while living in a tent next to the 605 Freeway. I was – and am – lucky to be alive. And I decided, in an attempt to make sense of my survival, to dedicate a year of my life to working charity. I found a shelter in Orange County and started volunteering my time. By day, I helped feed the hungry and house homeless women. By night, I slept on the streets.

I started seeing the bag lady from the mall again.

She smelled like death, probably from the leg wounds. She'd rant at anybody unlucky enough to sit near her, calling them child molesters and drug dealers. She pointed at me one time, ranting. Selfishly, I took offense and responded.

"You don't have any friends, do you? Your family won't talk to you, will they? One of these days you're gonna say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and they're gonna follow you off the bus and whack you over the head to put an end to your miserable life!"

I could see she was hurt, but I didn't stop. "And you know what? The world will be better off for it." I got off the bus, feeling horrible over what I had just said.

Eventually I started working at the shelter every day. I slept in the kitchen, making it easier to put breakfast on for the women who stayed there.

I put on a good spread and kept a spotless kitchen. It made sense out of my survival; made the challenges I faced in my own recovery worth the effort. And the women at the shelter appreciated my work. These women, many rejected by their own friends and family, became like sisters to me. I knew what rejection felt like. It was our bond.

One morning, as I lifted the partition over the breakfast counter, I saw the bag lady from the mall staring up at me. She had shown up at the shelter, looking for a place to get out of the cold, and she quickly became a regular.

At first, we didn't talk. Each morning, I would lift the partition and there she would be, staring. Eventually, I'd say "mornin'" and she would nod an acknowledgment.

The people who ran the shelter placed her in the garage to sleep with some of the other women staying there. It was warmer than sleeping in the backyard, where many of the other women slept.

One night, I was passing by the garage when I heard laughter. I opened up the side door and bellowed with mock authority "What's going on in here!?"

There was the bag lady, almost in tears from laughing, telling jokes. It was almost like I was witnessing a miracle. A warm human being was peeking out from behind that street mask of filth and insanity.

Something needed to be done about her legs. The best we could do was to have a social worker get her admitted to the psychiatric ward of a local hospital. At least she could start taking medication for her delusions and get her wounds cleaned.

But it was Christmas season, and a psych ward isn't much of a place for Christmas cheer. So I started visiting her daily, spending a couple of hours at a time, shooting the breeze.

We would talk about places to eat, our favorite buses to ride, our favorite bus stops to hang out at; places we had been. The medical staff started calling me her "son". I didn't correct them.

From the hospital we got her into a rest home. There she would spend the next several months in relative safety and comfort.

I continued to visit as often as I could. . . I'd tell her that I didn't want her to die cold and alone on the streets. Finally, one day, after I had once again told her that I thought she was better off in the home, she told me that she didn't want me to come around anymore.

It broke my heart, but I honored her wish. . . That was the last time I saw her.

As my bus pulled away from the Transportation Center I saw her fade from my sight. A tear came to my eye. I didn't want her to die alone on the streets, but that's where she wanted to be.

What are you gonna do?

Contact the writer: Michael Valencia, 45, first published this story special to the Orange County Register. He has been living on the streets and in shelters for most of the past five years. He currently is staying at a shelter in Los Alamitos and working, on a volunteer basis, at the Southern California Indian Center in Fountain Valley. He can be reached via email at valenciamichael66@yahoo.com.
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Corporate Sandwich Boards

On Wednesday, January 26, 2011, Homeless In America blogged a story that some people are chilled to the idea that wearing an ice cream logo can help keep the homeless warm. Some homeless now have commercial sponsors: they're sporting warm winter jackets with logos for Ben & Jerry's ice cream helping to raise money for a bunch of nuns who aid the needy. Should companies give for the sake of giving instead of treating the homeless like a NASCAR racer blanketed in an avalanche of logos?

Over the past year, HIA readers, visitors and bloggers were surveyed about this cool prospect. Is this a case of being “corporate sandwich boards” or receiving charity? Here is how everyone responded:

52% felt they were corporate sandwich boards.

47% believed it was a case of receiving charity.

Thank you for participating in this and all the Homeless In America surveys and polls. Please scroll down to near the bottom of this main page and participate in the others. Your vote counts!
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Lucky Losers, God is Looking for You!

Feeling down and out? Lowly and afflicted? Thirsting for God? You are just the kind of person God loves and is looking for. Isaiah counters popular thought that God seeks out the rich and the powerful, the prideful and the arrogant to do his work. Lucky losers, crushed and broken – God is looking for you!

Thus says the LORD,
“Heaven are my throne and the earth is My footstool.
What kind of house can you build for Me?
What is to be My resting place?
“For My hand made all these things,
Thus all these things came into being,” declares the Lord.
“But this is the one whom I approve:
The lowly and afflicted man who trembles at My word." Isaiah 66:1-2
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A Song of Praise from One Abandoned Broken Homeless Man to Another

By St. Francis of Assisi

Most High, all-powerful, all-good Lord,
All praise is Yours, all glory, honor and blessings.
To you alone, Most High, do they belong;
no mortal lips are worthy to pronounce Your Name.

We praise You, Lord, for all Your creatures,
especially for Brother Sun,
who is the day through whom You give us light.
And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor,
of You Most High, he bears your likeness.

We praise You, Lord, for Sister Moon and the stars,
in the heavens you have made them bright, precious and fair.

We praise You, Lord, for Brothers Wind and Air,
fair and stormy, all weather's moods,
by which You cherish all that You have made.

We praise You, Lord, for Sister Water,
so useful, humble, precious and pure.

We praise You, Lord, for Brother Fire,
through whom You light the night.
He is beautiful, playful, robust, and strong.

We praise You, Lord, for Sister Earth,
who sustains us
with her fruits, colored flowers, and herbs.

We praise You, Lord, for those who pardon,
for love of You bear sickness and trial.
Blessed are those who endure in peace,
by You Most High, they will be crowned.

We praise You, Lord, for Sister Death,
from whom no-one living can escape.
Woe to those who die in their sins!
Blessed are those that She finds doing Your Will.
No second death can do them harm.

We praise and bless You, Lord, and give You thanks,
and serve You in all humility.

(St. Francis died in 1226 while preaching Psalm 141. It is said, that of all God’s creatures, Francis lived the most like the Master himself, in poverty and brokenness. Francis received the wounds of Christ in his hands, feet and side – the stigmata was delivered by the fiery hand of an angel in 1224.)
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Alone but not Abandoned

Feelings of aloneness, of being abandoned are not unusual. Disappointment can often come from those who are closest to us. Isaiah, 1,000s of years ago writes, “Though a mother forsakes her child, I will not forsake you.” (Cf. Isaiah 49:15) The psalmist David said, “Even if my father and mother abandon me, the Lord will hold me close.” (Psalm 27:10) And Jesus cried out, alone on the cross, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" (Matthews 27:46). In today’s sound bite, the book of Sirach expresses hope and help for all those who feel alone, forsaken and abandoned:

“I looked for someone to help me, but there was no one there. But then, O Lord, I remembered how merciful you are and what you had done in times past. I remembered that you rescue those who rely on you, that you save them from their enemies.

“Then from here on earth I prayed to you to rescue me from death. I prayed, O Lord, you are my father; do not abandon me to my troubles when I am helpless against arrogant enemies. I will always praise you and sing hymns of thanksgiving.

“You answered my prayer, and saved me from the threat of destruction. And so I thank you and praise you. O Lord, I praise you!” (Sirach 51:7-12)
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But as our Conception of God is, so We Ourselves Become

By Caryll Houselander

God is light, Christ is the shining out of the light of God. The property of light is to illuminate, to give beauty to all it touches, to heal all that it penetrates, to purify all that is submitted to its heat. The Incarnation is the dawn of Christ’s light in us. Our longing for that dawn is our prayer for the world, our surrender of self to him, is our gift of Christ to men.

There is a widespread idea today that it does not matter what our conception of God is like; how vague it is, how confused, even how distorted. “We all worship the same God” has become almost a shrug of the shoulders, dismissing the responsibility of knowing God as he reveals himself to be, as if to know him truly made no difference to us.

But as our conception of God is, so we ourselves become. If we think he is hard, we grow hard; if we think he is a kill-joy, we become kill-joys, if we think of him as an omnipotent secret police, all-present, all-seeing, all-terrible, we shrink from him, and the heart that shrinks from God shrinks to nothing.

Saddest of all misconceptions is the merely negative God; it is this that fills the world with negative, apathetic people, futile before the misery of mankind. Only Christ’s light can touch that misery. Only in that light shining within us can we see the long-obscured path back to human happiness and walk in it.

Certain moralists delight in depicting the path to happiness, which incidentally is the path to heaven, as not only straight and narrow but dark, treacherous and impassable, with the result that human initiative dries up, and courage is sapped at the outset.

Hard it is and beset with danger, but we are not asked to walk in it blindly; with Christ in our heart we see every step of the way. Light, Saint Paul tells us, is armor, the feet set in Christ’s crimson footprints are shod in flame.
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"Poor" Woman Gives Nearly $2 Million to the Poor

The Modesto Bee and ABC News reports that a “poor” woman left nearly $2 million dollars to the Salvation Army to care for the poor and the homeless in Modesto, CA.

Elinor Sauerwein (photo) was taught by her mother to never waste a thing. She never purchased a dryer, hanging her laundry on a clothesline in the backyard. She painted her home when it needed a touch-up and mowed her own lawn until she reached her early 90s. She refused to go to restaurants, the movies or pay for cable TV. It could be said she took frugality to a whole new level.

Needless to say, it was a shock when a check for $1,731,533.91 from the estate of Elinor Sauerwein was presented to the Salvation Army this past Christmas Eve.

John Bullock who took care of her affairs commented, "She said every dollar I save is another dollar that could go to the Salvation Army. Her goal for years and years was to amass as much as she could so it would go to the Salvation Army," Bullock told ABC News. "She did an excellent job at it."

Elinor Sauerwein grew her own fruits and vegetables in a small, meager backyard, and even at the age of 90 would climb to the top of a ladder to pick from the trees. The extreme frugality certainly paid off: At the time of her death, Sauerwein had amassed almost $2 million in savings.

"Most people around her thought she was poor. However, Sauerwin's friends knew she had money, but they just didn't know how much," Bullock told ABC News.

In the late 1930s, after Elinor graduated from college, she taught in a one-room schoolhouse in Crookston, Neb., traveling to her job on horseback. When she arrived, she'd light a fire to warm the room for the schoolchildren, teach, clean the room and hop back on her horse for the ride home.

She soon met her husband, Harold, and they married in 1945 and moved to California, settling in Modesto, where Sauerwein cooked for ranch hands on the ranch where her husband found a job. She later worked at LM Morris business machines, according to the Modesto Bee.
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Someone that is Doing Something

This past weekend, Steve Jordan gave up the comforts of home to experience life as a homeless person living outdoors in the freezing cold of the Grand Rapids, Michigan area winter.

Jordan, 41, a member of the Helping Hands Ministry of Thornapple Valley Church, said he hopes the experiment raises awareness about the increasing numbers of homeless people in the region.

From noon this past Friday to 5 p.m. Sunday, Jordan lived out of a cardboard box, warming himself at a trash barrel fire and eating food community members brought over. His camp was set up on the corner of Michigan Route 37 and Heath Road in the burb of Hastings. Invited guests were members of his church, youth groups and community groups – all asked to stop by and spend time realizing what it’s like to be homeless.

“I know there is a great need in our community. There are many gaps where people don’t get assistance,” he said.

Jordan is accepting donations and hopes to have raised $100,000 during the weekend event. The money will be shared with Green Gables, Love Inc., Thornapple Valley Church, and for future collaboration with United Way programs.
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Home is a Humble Heart

Again the bride said [to the Blessed Mother]: “Should those who build tall and sumptuous churches for your Son be rebuked? Or are they to be censured and criticized if they ask for a lot of donations in order to construct such buildings?” The Mother answered: “When a church is wide enough to hold all the people coming into it, when its walls are tall enough that the people going into it are not crowded together, when its walls are thick and strong enough to withstand any wind, when its roof is tight and firm enough that it does not leak then they have built it sufficiently. A humble heart in a humble church is more pleasing to God than high walls in which there are bodies inside but hearts outside. Accordingly, they have no need to fill their chests with gold and silver for works of construction, for it did not do Solomon any good to have built such sumptuous buildings when neglecting to love God for whom they were being built.” The Revelations of St. Bridget, Book 3 - Chapter 18
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Making Frozen Yogurt and Beggar Beating

ABC News writer Colleen Curry reports that the co-founder of Pinkberry Frozen Yogurt, Young Lee, was arrested today at Los Angeles airport on a warrant for beating a homeless beggar in LA last June.

Lee, who helped design the healthy, low-calorie dessert chain, is accused of chasing down a homeless man who approached his car in downtown Los Angeles asking for money on June 15, 2011. Lee and another individual beat the homeless man with a tire iron, according to police. The man was hospitalized for treatment.

Witnesses reported the incident to police, including the license plate of the vehicle, a Range Rover, which was rented in Lee's name. Police seized the tire iron from the vehicle, police said. Witnesses also helped police identify Lee from a photo display, allowing police to obtain a warrant for his arrest.

"This case is emblematic of how the homeless are among the most vulnerable in our society," Lt. Paul Vernon said in a statement. "Despite the challenges in the case, the detectives never gave up and eventually found the victim after leads took them to Skidrow and the local jail."

According to a 2006 profile of Pinkberry by the Los Angeles Times, Lee, a native of Korea, was a former kick boxer and bouncer who became an architect responsible for the chain's bright colored walls and sleek furniture. He founded the chain with Hyekyung "Shelly" Hwang, also of Korea, in 2005 in Los Angeles. It has since become a worldwide chain.
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