South Coast Rock Tour
~ Day 32 ~
Tallahassee…Kristin…Shelter Experience…Gratitude.
I had a little under half a tank of gas when pulling away
from the Wilson’s home last night. Not knowing where I was traveling to, but
thinking it wouldn’t be very far, I didn’t fill up my tank in Panama City.
Surely, I would come to other gas stations along the coastal Panhandle stretch.
The scenic drive was beautiful and breathtaking even in the moonlit night. The
road took me through straightaways and curves that hugged the ocean. The speed
zones mainly ranged from 30-45mph. Tumbler didn’t mind the slow drive as his
tires purred on the newly paved road. All of the towns were quaint and charming…
where locals fish for food every day and people come to park their RVs for a
day or two. At 10:30pm, my gas gauge had dropped to under a quarter tank. I
started looking for a gas station. I found many in the next hour, but none of
them were open. The small, fishermen’s towns were dark and the pumps were down
till the sun would come up. The “low fuel” alarm dinging, I patted Tumbler’s
dash, “We’ll make it through, buddy.” Passing several other dimly lit stations,
we came to a fork in the road, one way continuing along the coast, the other
way headed back towards Tallahassee. I had already passed Alligator’s Point and
gone around most of Apalachee Bay, so to go up to Florida’s capital was
somewhat backtracking. But I needed gas and had to take the risk of finding a
town that didn’t shut down before midnight. God definitely stretched the fumes
of fuel that rolled Tumbler into gas station just outside Tallahassee. His
parched tank was fully quenched and I plugged in “Walmart Supercenter” into my
GPS. Once the nearest one was reached, I crawled in the backseat at 12:30am. I
was tired from the busy, sunny day and moonlit driving.
The alarm on my phone had not been set. The hot sun woke me
up at 10am. Breakfast and morning routine complete, Tumbler made the short trek
to Tallahassee. We drove around the downtown area for a while and then made our
way through the roads of several colleges. Fathers and mothers walked with
their young adult kids who were taking tours of the campuses. The parents
looked more excited than the kids who were going to be starting 4 more years of
school all over again. It’s one thing to be a Freshman, it’s another to be a
Freshman at a new school. I think we adults have “Freshman moments” all
throughout our journey… uncharted, awkward, tentative moments.
Wanting to find the town’s rescue mission or shelter, I
stopped at a store in hopes of finding an attendant who knew the area. It was
here that I met Kristin. She was a college student at Florida State University
who was getting her major in Sociology. When I questioned her about the homeless
population and where they typical congregate, she told me about a tent city
hidden somewhere in the capital’s landscape. “If you find it, let me know. I
really want to go there and study the people.” I was interested as well, but I
never did find this top-secret tent city. Went out to my truck and made Kristin
a “We all have a story” rock. We didn’t talk more than 15min, and this would be
the longest conversation I would have with a human today.
To no avail, I searched for the tent city as well as the
mission that Kristin had said was on Pensacola Avenue. “God, do you just want
me to drive around today? I’m cool with that, but people are cool too. Hint,
hint.” I kept driving. When a road took me into another college campus (there
are several big ones in Tallahassee), I spotted a suburban police car
patrolling one of the parking lots. Back in the days, I would high-tailed it
away from any sighting of a cop, but now I have a fresh perspective of these
men and women in blue and black uniforms. I drove up to him and waved my hand
out Tumbler’s window. Officer Dan rolled down his window. “This might be a
weird question, but…” He cut me off and said, “I’ve heard it all. What do ya
want to know?” --- “Where are the dark parts of this town? I want to go there to
hand out rocks… like actual stones. Do you know of a hidden tent city? Or is
there a rescue mission here?” Officer Dan was in his mid-forties. He had been a
police officer for many years. “I mainly patrol the college campuses. There is
enough darkness in these areas. Regarding the tent city, I have heard of it,
but don’t know where it is. There is a shelter here that is on Pensacola Ave.”
He gave me the address and explained how the street stopped but then started
back up again several blocks away. Officer Dan was given a “Grow Every Day”
rock.
The shelter was found and I parked half a mile away. There
were some men doing softball batting sessions in 2 adjacent baseball fields.
Kids were practicing their flips and grinds in a skateboard park. And there was
a nearby parking lot that had been converted into a crotch rocket motorcycle
track where various adrenaline junkies were doing lengthy pop-a-wheelies and
making turns so low their elbows touched the pavement. It was awesome… and
loud. I watched them for a little while and thought of many people who would
have been all over this rare display before me.
The hike to the mission gave me time to pray before entering
the territory that was far different than the fun-loving, sport-fanatic area
less than a mile away. I passed people getting high in the wooden announcer’s
booths of vacant baseball fields, men with such a lostness in their eyes, and
women with hardened faces. Some didn’t notice me, their heads downcast. Others
saw me and just stared. Some mean-mugged me. It was made very apparent that I
was a new face… and not welcomed. Walked up to a guy standing by a bush in the
front of the shelter. “Hey bro, do they serve dinner here?” He looked me up and
down, then jutted his chin towards the front door. I took that as a yes. When I
went inside, it reminded me more of a dingy jail than a shelter. There was a
large front office area with huge glass windows. All of the walls were dirty grey.
There was a flat nylon rope that formed a line where people were standing
single file to wait their turn to get patted down and then scanned with a metal
detector wand. Their bags went through an x-ray machine and they then walked
through an upright metal detector. It was loud in the front area. I clutched my
backpack straps and kept my head down, while my eyes looked left and right,
taking it all in. I wasn’t cold, but my muscles were tense with the coldness in
the atmosphere. The residents cussed and complained as they waited in line. The
security staff were gruff and curt. “Next!” It was my turn to walk up. “Bags
down. Arms up.” --- “Umm, this is my first time here.” --- “You have to go to
the front desk. Then get back in line to come through. Next!” I went over to
the said area and stood in front of the glass cage that held 8-10 staff
members. I stood there for a while and no one noticed me. Finally, a lady came
over and slid up a tiny window. “What do you want?” --- “I’m new here. Was
wondering if I could get something to eat and maybe talk with someone.” I truly
was hungry and wanted to eat dinner with the people. I also wanted to talk with
someone about the shelter and ask some questions. And of course, leave 1-5
rocks once inside. The lady could have been a relative of the security staff,
for her demeanor was very similar… gruff and curt. With no emotion, she asked
me for my name, birth date, and if I had an ID. I gave her the first two
things, and said I didn’t have an ID. In a monotone voice she asked, “What
services do you need?” --- “I would like to talk with someone. And I’m hungry.”
The other staff in the office were all talking loudly and laughing. One of them
yelled to the lady at the window and then started laughing. “Wait here.” And so
I did… for almost 5min. The lady joined the others in their rambunctious
conversation. I’m all for joking around and making your job fun, but there is a
time and a place for it. While waiting, I thought of the fact that I was
sound-minded and stable. I didn’t need the help I was asking for… I was okay.
But what if I wasn’t? What if I was a young woman who had just been raped, or
had just left her abusive boyfriend/husband, or was suicidal? I was fine… but
what if I wasn’t? What if I truly needed to talk with someone right then and
there or better yet, taken to another less quiet room to unload what I was
carrying. I wasn’t that young woman who needed help, but the staff, cackling
inside the glass cage, didn’t seem to care. I took a few steps back from the window.
The staff lady was leaning against a distant desk and talking with the others.
She didn’t notice that I walked myself back out the front doors.
I share this experience not to shame this particular mission
nor to shun the staff. My experience here and with the staff may not have been
what is common to others who come in the doors for the first time. The security
staff might have received a bad phone call an hour earlier, the staff might
have had 57 other things on their minds and laughing was a coping mechanism to
deal with the stress of the shelter, and the lady who tended to me might have
simply forgot that I was waiting at the window. While making the trek back to
where Tumbler was parked, I was grateful that I had a truck to sleep in
tonight, that I wasn’t strung out on crack, that I was no longer prostituting,
that I was still healing from past rapes and abuse, and that there had been
shelters I went to when I was in need of help that had staff who was attentive
and loving and taken me to quiet back rooms where I would unpack the heavy
things I was carrying at the time.
I thought of these things as I drove away from the shelter
and out of Tallahassee. Bright gratitude flowed through my heart while dark memories
flooded my mind. It was a juggling act of opposing emotions. I drove to
Jacksonville, Florida and found a Walmart hotel. Sleep did not come easy. My
mind was a battlefield. But grace and gratitude eventually won the fight.
We can go back to our past chapters.
To remember, to reflect, to recall the darkness.
But be guarded so as to come back to the present page.
May the past remind us of how far we have come.
And Who has carried us through it all.
Every chapter holds purpose.
Unshakable Peace and Purpose
Cling to the Rock
Psalm 18:1-2
