What is shelter?
Is it a house, apartment, motorhome, a camper, car, or maybe a tent.
Yes, all of these are shelters.
Others will say, but a rescue mission is a shelter, and I say, no it is not!
When a shelter source forces those it helps to prostrate themselves for a meal, a shower, a bed, or worse – a mat on the floor, this is not shelter; it’s sacrilege.
My first experience in a shelter was around 11, when my family was split apart – mom, me and my two younger brothers, were taken to a large room full of bunk beds and cots,
I wondered – did Dad’s room look the same, while mom cried herself to sleep.
The second time was in a rescue mission, I was 13. We stayed in a family room. It had a small closet set between two sets of bunkbeds, and a closeable door.
We arrived in summer, but later in winter after the daily services, which you had to attend before every meal or you could not eat, a couple was signing up for beds.
Later that evening, while I was passing the women’s bunk room, it held 10 sets of bunk beds, one of the ladies was trying to comfort the woman previously seen downstairs. She was crying buckets, saying he didn’t get a bed, that there are no rooms for couples, only families. We should be thankful. Here she began to cry harder.
Now this puzzled and confused, since a family room sat open same as ours, ready to use and able to hold two couples, let alone one. Were they not a family? A couple, sure, a husband and wife, a family of two, definitely true.
After this and many more scenes, I viewed the world with eyes new and keen, this shelter of religion is cold, unfeeling, where hypocritical lies unfold.
I swear upon my life bold, to never set foot upon these darkened thresholds. Nevermore my soul to sell, nor tears to shed for bread, bath, or bed. On streets I’d rather be; I may not be sheltered, but at least I’m free.
Despite how hard I worked to stay away from homelessness, it struck anyway, and one day I found myself saying, “In no shelter will I stay, for I know all too well they will RIP my love away, and this will make me go insane.”
And so the street was preferred, for a while in a tent we endured, then into a village that was disturbed, until a home which is mobile was procured, bringing shelter, warmth, and safety felt.
Though still on the street we sleep and eat, my family will roam, while seeking a permanent home. Let all take note shelter can bring hope or cause a stroke.