South Coast Rock Tour
~ Day 42 ~
Daytona Day 1…Morning Men…Homeless Coalition…Meeting.
I would have slept in till mid-morning at the Walmart hotel,
though my left eye opened half way at voices next to Tumbler early in the sun’s
morning light. Propping myself up on my elbow, the heads of two men were seen
standing next to the driver’s side window. One of the guys saw my movement in
the back seat and waved at me, more out of involuntary awkwardness than
voluntary greetings. My normal routine of folding blankets and arranging my
pillow and bedding in an organized stack was forewent as I crawled up to the
front seat. The guy softly knocked on the window and I rolled it down halfway.
“Sorry miss, we didn’t know you were sleeping and weren’t trying to wake you
up. I’m Zack and this is Mike. I just got out of jail yesterday and Mike and I
are starting a tree removal business. You have a sweet truck here. Want to make
some money and haul palm branches with us?” I am not a morning person. It
usually takes me a good 15min to grease up the bearings of my mind before I
even want to have a “Good morning… did you sleep well?” conversation with
someone I know, let alone talk about a business proposition with two strangers
after 1min of waking up. Trying to tame my morning beach hair, I said, “Dude,
no worries about waking me, but give me a couple minutes to eat a banana and
have a smoke. I’m interested in hearing more of your and Mike’s story though.”
I expected ringleader Zack to take a few steps back to give me those couple
minutes to wake up, but no, he stood next to the window smiling as he watched
me peel the banana. Silently, I thought, “Ok God, let’s jump out and do this.”
I grabbed my flip flops under the seat and opened the door. Offering the guys
cigarettes, they smoked while my breakfast was eaten. Zack started talking
about his business idea and Mike sat next to me quietly. I wasn’t interested in
becoming a three-way partner in the potential tree company, but I was
interested in how Zack and Mike had landed in Daytona in a Walmart parking so
early in the morning. Zack told me the story as Mike tried to add details of
the short chapter of their friendship but kept getting cut off by Zack. Both
had struggled with heroine in the past and both were now clean. This was the
nitty gritty that finally allowed Mike to share more of his story. We sat on
the cement curb as the sun’s brightness intensified and the tree behind us cast
shade and shadows over us. Zack kept trying to bring up the potential work we
could do together, but I kept steering away back to the deeper topics. Two
rocks were pulled from Tumbler later on and Zack was given “Embrace the
Brokenness” and Mike a “Press Through” rock. Mike said, “Wow, Katie. I saw a
distinct light on you from the beginning, but now I see that the Lord is truly
with you. I love the Bible reference on the back of this rock. I’ll look it up
later. I got Psalm 144:1 tattooed on my hand here. ‘Praise be to the Lord my
Rock, who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle.’ God has enabled me
to fight so many mental and spiritual battles in my life. Thank you for the
‘Press Through’ rock.” A black Sharpie marker was pulled out and I retraced the
faded tattoo lines on Mike’s hand. I had done the same with Shaggy back in
Savannah, and there would be more tracing of tattoos as well as original
Sharpie tattoos down the journey’s path. Mike gave me a pencil sketch that he
had drawn and Zack gave me his phone number to call if I changed my mind about
the business proposition. We all took selfies of the three of us, the guys with
their phones, and I with my camera. We hugged and then all went about our day.
It was a sudden morning awakening, but the hour spent with Zack and Mike was
purpose-full.
Tumbler drove to the library and parked out of the hot sun.
Jacksonville was warm too, but there was a breeze throughout the day that
helped with the humidity. Daytona was without a breeze and the heat and humidity
was intense. I stayed at the air-conditioned library to write for a few hours.
At the end, I looked up local shelters and missions in the area. Normally, I
like the adventure of discovering them or meeting street people who walk me to
them, but googling is the quicker way. I have a love/hate relationship with the
internet and only like to use a digital map for a last resort. The Holy Spirit
is my favorite GPS and Siri substitute. But google was helpful today and it
showed a Homeless Coalition Center nearby. We did a drive by, and my heartbeat
quickened when I saw all the people hanging around the block.
I could write in-depth about the next 5 hours spent in this
area, though will give more synopses than details. At first, the settling in
the space was sketchy. The new blonde on the block was eyed up and down by
those who called this place their home. The prostitutes snarled at me and the
dealers and addicts were either tentative or intrigued. I sat down on the less
crowded sidewalk of a side street and pulled out a rock to scribe. Several guys
walked by offering various drugs to me or propositioning business deals that
had nothing to do with palm branches. Others came by out of curiosity of what I
was drawing. I handed out a few small rocks for the first two hours of
adjusting to the dark atmosphere. One of the prostitutes who had glared at me
earlier was given an “Perseverance” rock while saying, “I’m not here to tread
on your territory”. Her demeanor changed immediately. I saw her later on in the
afternoon and she flashed me the rock as she walked by with a smile and nod.
This block and its activities brought back tidal waves of memories. These were
places that I once hung out at to buy drugs, use drugs, and prostitute for the
next bag of temporary numbness. As I sat against the chain linked fence, God
allowed just enough emotions to be felt to stay present with past memories, but
not drown in the emotions. He would allow more to surface later that night as
well as even more now as I write.
Many rocks were scribed that afternoon by the Coalition. I
saw new faces, became acquaintances with many, and had deeper conversations
with only a few. One of those people was Bill. He looked like Gene Wilder but a
foot taller and 100lbs heavier. He was a partaker in the area rather than a
distributor. Bill loved sex, drugs, and rock n roll. He admitted that the
lifestyle had taken a taxing toll on him over the years. His initial intentions
of coming over to me was to buy me and get me high enough to stay with him
through the night. When these things were declined, he asked if it would be
okay if he just talked with me a bit. I nodded and proceeded to listen to Bill
for the next hour. During this time, many guys came over or walked by pushing
drugs and propositioning, and Bill would tell them that I was with him right
now. I didn’t feel completely comfortable with Bill, but at the same time, I
felt protected by him. I asked him what word he needed and he said, “Peace.”
The large letters of this word were slowly drawn on a rock as Bill continued to
talk a little about everything. He needed someone to listen to him more than he
needed the affection of a drug-up female. When I handed him the finished rock,
he smiled and said, “Ya know, I feel like I should pay you for merely listening
to me, and then for this rock.” I declined the money because it was a free
gift, but also because I didn’t want the other women around me to see Bill
giving me money, further stirring their resentment of the new, intruding
female.
At 4pm, the people on the block started walking towards the
back of a building nearby. A church had come to serve food. Bill had ridden off
on his bicycle and I put my heavy backpack on to round the corner. A long line
had already formed as people were coming from all different side streets and
alleys. There must have been a hundred people in the parking lot. I stood in
line and waited for a plate of food: hot dog bun with pulled pork, macaroni and
cheese, Doritos, and donuts. I was hungry and devoured the food next to a young
guy and girl who were so high that they nodded out in between bites of food. On
the other side of me came a guy that I watched drink vodka the two hours before
the meal. He tripped over the curb when going to sit down and his plate went
flying on the ground. “You alright there, buddy?” He looked at me, grunted, and
then wobbly crouched down to pick up the food from the ground and put it back
on the plate. His second attempt at sitting down was successful. I wanted to go
around and talk to each of the people here, but finished my food and then just
sat there with my knees tucked close and resting my chin on my folded arms. I
prayed and prayed and prayed. Half of me was flowing with gratitude. The other
half was flooded with grief. Sat there till all the people were fed, finished
their food, and the church group packed up their serving tables. I walked over
to a nearby dumpster of which its rank almost made me regurgitate the food in
my stomach. One of the church volunteers was throwing away trash bags and he
too had been taken aback by the odor. “Thanks for extending compassion and the
love of Jesus today, sir.” --- “You’re welcome. It’s one of my favorite things
to do each week. But dang, this dumpster could knock a person out.” I laughed
slash coughed and said, “True speak.”
Bill wanted to hang out after we ate, but he had his back to
me while talking with someone and I rounded two corners to leave the Coalition
area. Tumbler was parked half a mile away and I took a different way back to
him. The area was run down compared to the glamour of other Daytona pockets.
Every city and town has both bright and dark areas. Daytona was no different.
Tumbler crossed back over the bridge that connected the mainland to the
intercostal strip. He was parked a block from the ocean and I walked to the
beach. More rocks were scribed while I people watching on the busy beach area.
It was such a different environment, scene, and atmosphere than where I had
been for the last 5 hours. I sighed deeply several times throughout the
remainder of the afternoon’s sunlight. There was a lot that needed to be
processed. Today was not super busy, yet it was very intense. I needed to sit
with what I was allowed to experience today as well as sit with the memories
they evoked. Yet, I was not alone as I sat facing the ocean by myself… The
Lover of my soul had His arms around me.
Most things of lasting value
Cannot be bought with money.
Unshakable Peace and Purpose
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
