Different Yet the Same

“Ain’t no pot so crooked, you can’t find a lid to fit.” ~ Author Unknown

Within society, those who have lost a sense of joy, find other ways to fill the void. In doing so, our perception of what is normal becomes distorted. Madness to one person may seem like a safe place to another, while scars can hold a lifetime of stories. What happens then, if someone’s broken shell reaches out and extends love to another person that is different, but at the core, the very same. 

In my previous post, I reference Denver Moore; an inspirational speaker and author. His earlier life included being a convict, homeless, and man of rage. Wielding a baseball bat, he lived on the streets for 22 years. His life story was written into a New York Times Bestseller. The book was co-authored with a well known art dealer, Ron Hall. The story tells of Ron’s late wife, Debra Hall who befriended Denver. Moore found himself going from a life of violent outbursts and sleeping outdoors, to being given Dallas’s prestigious honour, as Philanthropist of the year in 2006. Denver’s chronicles went beyond the hardships he endured. By openly speaking of his struggles and sharing about the bonds of friendship with Ron, their story inspired North America. An estimated $70 million dollars was donated to various causes related to homelessness. Included in his legacy, is a movie based on the book titled: “Same Kind of Different as Me.” 

The timing of watching the film coincided with my own plans. On my birthday, I wanted to be amongst those who each carry their own story of loss, heartache, anger and liberation. When I walk along the streets, I feel a connection to those layered in human trials. I make a point to never avert my gaze, rather I look at those sleeping, panhandling, clinging to the space between. Looking deep into their eyes, I see their hands are no dirtier than mine…just different stains on them. 

After I bid *Susan goodbye, I continue on strolling the sidewalks.  My thoughts soon drift to the polar opposite names referred to the community I call home. From paradise found to a wasteland of sin, I imagine our city as an hour glass, with the misfits of society struggling on the bottom. 

No matter how hard they try, the slippery slope to advance is impeded by the grains of sand that represent their addictions, vices and character flaws; drowning each of them. 
 A quote from the film and novel resonated with me that Denver Moore said:

“When you are precious to God, you are just as important to Satan.” 

Trudging on through the rain, I felt confidant in being able to give away, the jacket held firmly within the bag of love. 

After completing another loop around the downtown core, there were two First Nations men sitting together. Approaching them, I struck up a conversation. Sharing about my daughter, I told them of my purpose in wanting to pass along her jacket. Suddenly the young man on the right of me was emotional, as he nodded his head to show my intentions were genuine. 

His friend spoke up and said, “I have a girlfriend, who only is wearing a sweatshirt. She is at the library, but will be back soon. I could take the jacket and give it to her.” 

 I remarked, “There is something else… inside several pockets are special things I put in the coat. All I ask, is you wait to see what is in them, when your girlfriend gets back.” 

He nodded in agreement. 

“What is her name?” I asked.

*“Lisa”, he said with a smile. 

Standing up the young man received the jacket, as if some ceremonial remembrance was taking place. I showed each of the young men a picture of Shayla on my phone. 

“My daughter should be here with me, but she’s waiting for her momma one day to come home,” I said. 

Walking away, I knew the person who was not even present to receive the jacket, was the one it was meant for.

By now, I was overcome with all that had transpired thus far.  It was late, but I decided to grab a cup of tea. Walking into the mall, I looked down at the Love bag and while I was happy the jacket had been gifted, I was sad to see the bag empty. 

After the purchase of my tea, I wanted to go into The Body Shop. My experience there saw me treated like royalty by an employee named Marcellina or as she stated with a perky grin, “March, just like the month!” 

Her lively nature was the uplift I needed. Plus, her knowledge of every product was incredible. March reminded me of a cross of Amy Schumer and Melissa McCarthy. When I asked what manly scents she had, March led me straight over to the men’s section. What she did next still has me in awe and giggles. Every scent I picked up, March proceeded to conjure up the image of the man who would actually wear it. There were scenarios, hair placement and even how many buttons were opened on the tailored shirts. It was as if she had gone to the secret place of her heart and brought to life a plethora of gentleman. I confessed that I was a sap for the scent of nice cologne. Now, March had raised the bar, immensely! Suddenly, a real human being was in the store and I made note of what he was wearing. Within minutes of serving the young man, he had selected his choice and after paying, he proceeded to leave. March winked at me and whispered, “White Musk” man. 

I looked at the customer walking out. Everything prior to what she had explained in detail, about a man who buys the White Musk cologne, was a perfect match! I was impressed. After helping me in the store, I made a note to let her employer know, how fabulous March’s service is to all customers.

As I walked back to my friend’s car parked at the library, I noticed the two, young, men I had spoken with and given the jacket to. They were now in a different place. Except, with them was the girl…wearing the coat. It took me a moment, as I stood there seeing how it fit her perfectly. Taking a breath in, I walked over to where they were sitting on the concrete. Lisa's boyfriend was happy to my reappearance and introduced me to his girlfriend. I was curious if they had found all the items. Suddenly, one by one, the young man named everything and thanked me. 
In my request to take a picture, I asked first, due to the sensitive nature of some people being on the streets and also cultural reasons. Likewise, I did not want the young girl to feel obligated.

“Would you mind if I take a snapshot of the side of you. I will not use your real name or show your face.” 

Lisa gave a smile and responded, “Yeah sure… it’s no problem.”
Standing up, the silhouette of her frame, reminded me of the importance of  Shayla's roots. While my daughter identified with Aboriginal ancestry, in her heart she knew her lineage was possibly connected to the Shuswap region.   
What mattered in releasing the jacket to someone in need, it freed up in my heart, to love myself more beyond any iniquity I had been carrying. 

After, I hugged the young girl and thanked each of them for showing me kindness and respect for a mother’s request. It made me feel good that instead of my daughter’s jacket hanging in my closet, it was now warming another soul.

By now, all I wanted to do was come home. However, my night was not over…yet.

I stopped into a store to pick up a specific item. As usual, my purpose was diverted by something sparkly. I top with a heart shape of sequins, called me over. I was eyeing the details on it, when I heard a lady ask me if I needed any help. Turning around, I was greeted by a tiny figure in an employee uniform. Her obsidian wisps pulled away from her face, while her large almond eyes drew me in. I smiled in an instant and laughing I replied, “Oh I am not sure, but this pajama top is calling my name.”

The young girl began to chuckle and reaching over she touched the material.

“Oh, it is so soft as well!”

Laughing again, I nodded in agreement.

We began to talk. *Cheryl told me she was originally from China and had been working only a month at the store. She mentioned of her time spent in the USA and how unfriendly she had found people to be.

Looking downward, Cheryl said, “They don’t see me… instead…” her voice tapered off.

I could only imagine the cruelty she suffered, as covering the young girl’s face and body were various, thick, scars. While I wondered what had happened, Cheryl’s gentle presence made you see only beauty thru her kindness. As her gaze met mine again, we both smiled at one another.

It was then the words of Denver Moore popped into my head.

Hmmm, I thought… “Same kind of different as me”.

Cheryl broke the silence with her words,

“You are a nice person who is warm and friendly, she said.”

In that moment, I felt awkward in thanking her, for she deserved to be treated equally with compassion and acceptance in this world.

All of a sudden, our conversation was interrupted by a little boy who was probably eight or nine years old. When Cheryl turned to speak with him, his reaction was not of surprise. Rather, when she bent down to his level, their eyes locked and he politely asked for her help. Waving at me, Cheryl went on her way to make another person’s day wonderful.

I decided to buy the PJ top and once back at the car; I was inundated with all that had occurred on my birthday. Looking at the time, it was 10:50 pm, was I realized there was one thing I had forgotten. Driving to the nearest grocery store, I had 4 minutes to purchase a Jones cream soda. At the store as I reaching over to grab bottle, I saw a card rack and one particular one grabbed my attention. It was bright, with a quote that Shayla once posted on her Facebook. Back in 2011, I was amused in discovering it. 

Later, I would repeat it as one of the many sayings, when giving her Eulogy at the Celebration of Life. Everyone who knew my daughter, also recalled her sense of humour. Nearly 8 years later on the eve of my birthday, as I purchased a Jones soda, the irony hit me. Driving back to my place, I had alot to mull over. 

The beautiful arrangement of flowers that Terry had bought me, welcomed me home. 

Twisting open the cap and reading my 'fortune', produced a huge smile. 

Prosperity and Love are in reach.

After a few sips, I decided to take out PJ top out of my Love bag and cut off the tags. 

Looking for the scissors in the drawer, I glanced up and saw the pendant hanging that my mom had bought me for Christmas. 

It was special, because it had the words that ever since Shayla was a babygirl, I always said: “I Love You to the Moon and Back.”

One Mother’s Day, my daughter gifted me a photograph of us together. On the photograph she had wrote: “I Love You to the Moon and Back.”

What brings me happiness… is my dear friend Judy, who became a grandmother for the first time. She says those words with her own spin on them, about her grandson Odin.

As I went to cut off the tag on my nightshirt, I read the words: Ladies flip sequins.

Due to my long day, I stared at it for a minute, trying to figure out what that meant? Picking up the top, I laid it on my bed and let my hand swipe at the sequins on the fabric. It took a few times, before I realized to my amazement, the images of the moon and stars appearing within the heart. Glancing over at the picture of mother and daughter in the frame, the tears came freely, as I thought of the connection.

Even though she could not spend my birthday with me ...far from the heavens 
I envisioned my babygirl whispering: “Happy Birthday Mom!”

By TL Alton

*Certain names have been changed to protect the identity of the individuals.

Pieces of People Sunshine

 /ˈwīldˌflou(ə)r/ : a flower growing freely without human intervention

/ro͞ot/ :  to establish deeply and firmly

Over a decade ago, while employed as a landscaper, I would sit on the ride along mower and plot my course. With precision in the height of the blade, my need for flawlessness exuded in crisp lines. Every area was thoroughly manicured, except for one spot. In spring, when the brief existence of nature flourished into cherry blossoms, another grove of seeds were taking shape. Unlike the dual meaning of beauty and sacrifice of "Sakura, Sakura" (Cherry Blossom), the English Daisy— often tinged pink and opening at dawn, while closing again at dusk— was viewed as a gardener’s nuisance. Perceived as a lawn weed, many have tried to eliminate Bellis perennis fortitude in growing as a cluster, within sections of meticulously kept grass. One day, after a closer inspection, I made the sole decision to respect their intrusion and not sheer them down. With a mixture of sunshine and coastal rain, they soon grew and were noticed by many of the seniors, residing at the complex. They were amused by seeing me drive the mower and swerve around the grouping of pink petals. Meanwhile, the one person not pleased was my boss, who ordered their demise. Yet time and time again, as I worked through the season, I saw the ‘weeds’ as something I would continue to stand for ~ optimism. 

So many winding roads in my life have been the embodiment of hope; where either I fought hard to cling to it or by which I lost sight of. On my 48^th Birthday, I found wildflowers amongst the weeds, and a new purpose for treasuring amid my roots… the true gifts one receives in the name of Love. 

When I awoke on January 17^th at 5:45am, I already had my first of many birthday greetings that would follow. In my morning prayer, I sought a plan for the day, knowing full well, God directs my steps. I was blessed with the vehicle of a dear friend, which would make my strategy for a day of giving, much easier. Later, I would park the car in a safely lit area, as I knew I needed to walk the streets to speak with others.

Preparing for the long day, I paused to think how there was nothing I asked for, other than to be safe. The most precious birthdays had already been shared in 21 years of memories and photographs; captured with my daughter. Now, these milestones of celebrations were of giving to others.

My first stop of many was at the local cemetery. As I tied the balloons to a bouquet of white roses and a blue hydrangea, half of a glorious sunrise peeked through trees of remembrance. Leaving a kiss on the plaque of Lindsay’s grave, I said: “This is from your mom.” Turning to leave, I added… “Could you tell Shayla, her momma misses her so much today.” 

Back at the car, I noted the multi-coloured Gerbera daisies I had bought, to give to others. That morning, my friend Terry and her mother each were given one.

I had chosen to have my birthday meal at Denny’s – one of the places where Shayla and I enjoyed going to and much laughter had been shared. Sitting in a booth, I thought of how she would love to be across from me, sharing a chocolate peanut butter milkshake. I imagined Shayla throwing her head back, letting out a laugh that brought attention – something my daughter did not care about. The authenticity of who she was shining thru.  

As I ordered my meal, I noticed the waitress was handling several busy tables. After I finished eating, I left a tip and also one of Shayla’s favourite quotes, along with a Gerbera daisy.

Later on, I went to the Christian Book & Music Store. The money my brother sent me for my birthday, was used to purchase some items (a cover/case for my Bible, a CD and book). The things I bought were meant to evoke thought, emotion and progression of my faith. I did not know the hardcover, A Grace Disguised, would have a connection to someone else, who later that night their story would be shared. 

While shopping, I recognized a familiar voice call my name. It was Shania, a former roommate in a boarding house, I once rented month to month. She was now working at the store and as we engaged in conversation, I noticed a transformation. Her wide smile held such joy and there was warmth when we hugged. Before leaving, I gave Shania, the owner of the business and another employee, the last of my flowers.

The happiness shared carried me onto my mission of the day: to gift someone the jacket of my daughter’s. The one I held onto for seven years. The winter jacket that once contained her pebbles and gemstones, wrapped with a mothers note to her child. 

The snapshot of Shayla wearing the jacket, along with her beloved pink pants, on a hike.

In December, I had intentions of letting the jacket go. However, the importance of listening amongst the winter solitude saw me wait until my birthday. 

 Placed into numerous pockets were several items that meant something to Shayla and me; with hope it all would resonate with a stranger. I placed a small cross, the Serenity Prayer and a shell with the word Courage, within the lining. Zipped inside another pocket, was a silver token that had an angel on one side and the words “Always With You.” Lastly, into the side pockets I put five dollars and a rock painted by Shayla, when she was a little girl. I prayed over the coat, before taking it with me to deliver, to someone in need on the streets. 

Throughout the years of giving back within the city, I have met various homeless people. Some only for a short minute, while others we have sat together on the concrete and connected. I recall my interaction with a gentleman named David – “the pencil guy,” as he was fondly called for selling his pens and pencils. Always smiling, engaging in small talk and with a hat that he wore with confidence, David Irwin was someone who brought delight in encountering him. Being a creator of stories, I wondered what his was. 

When a person befriended and trusted me to share their journey to the streets, I valued their own roots of hardships. Back then, I never imagined my future work injuries and delay of sickness benefits, would find me without a home. The silver lining being my vehicle was a shelter on wheels. Despite my setbacks, I continued to give in ways that were knotted with my faith. A thread throughout my life, woven amongst the pain of others, exists because I have known chaos… in the midst of love. Still, I have experienced how God gives joyous praise in place of broken hearts.

With pure intentions, I was determined to give something that once wrapped my daughter in warmth. 

By now it was nearing evening, as the briskness of January crept in; I set out to approach others. I found a man who was setting up a tarp around him, to try and shut out the cold. His actions, reminded me of a shield, he hoped would help him survive another winter’s night. Advancing towards the man, I noticed his large stature and the jacket would never fit him. I was thankful he had on a long, tanned coat, yet wished I could do more.  

As he settled onto the heavy rained concrete, I imagined the stories tucked under the soaked tarp, held the remains of a system, flawed by bureaucracy.

When taking this profound snapshot, it was never to bring shame, rather awareness.   

Standing there, I was disheartened to see how the people walked around him in avoidance, as if he was a load of trash needing to be disposed of. 

Shortly after, I had to push myself onward. In my hands, I clutched a bag that had the word Love written all over it. At that moment, I did not feel much love for what I was doing, because I felt it was not enough. Mixed with my emotions, the cold and tiredness, I made a decision that saw me walk into dangerous territory. In the past, there have been many compassionate homeless people who have warned me of places not to venture. These included alleys, areas of serious drug activity and locations where I could be an easy target. In a moment of desperation, I took the path that not any of my friends or family would want me to go on. In doing so, I also lost the purpose of what the gifting was about. Taking a wrong turn led me to an area that I had not come across. As I walked with my bag, I pictured a neon sign flashing a warning! 

All eyes were on me as I tried not to look directly at anyone. Drug use was widespread, with paraphernalia being used openly. A fight was brewing and tensions ran high. 

I held onto the bag with the winter jacket and stopped. While others were hanging around, I realized in my gut that I had made a big mistake. Having the best intentions could cause me serious harm. In that moment, I asked God to protect me and get me out of the situation. I began to back away, with every heavy step I felt at ease. Only when I was within city limits did I feel safer. Exhaling, I thanked God I was no longer in jeopardy. It was a moment of release, when I knew that I had to trust in Him, in leading me to the right person to receive the coat.

Nearing a corner, I saw a woman in her fifties, sitting on her walker and asking for change. I approached and introduced myself. In a soft spoken voice she said her name was *Susan. Within minutes, we were having a conversation. When I shared about my daughter, her jacket and about my birthday wish to gift it to someone, Susan’s tears began to flow. I told her of being foolishly led by my exhaustion to a certain area. With eyes that widened, she  shook her head in disbelief. 

“You never want to go there; I was once attacked in that area by a woman high on drugs!” Susan exclaimed.

I was grateful for her company and shared about my faith. I told the woman how over the years, despite such tragic loss and anarchy, I was steadfast in my beliefs. Susan’s head hung down as she said, “I use to believe…not anymore.” 

It was as if the gravity of what she had endured, numbed the feelings of hope trying to reach her.

This prompted me to ask, with a gentle tone, as to why not? 

Soon, she was sharing the heartbreak endured by the loss of her partner, who had died of Cancer, the year before. I then discovered the man also had been on the streets, as long ago, his wife and son were killed by a drunk driver. The very vice that eradicated his loved ones, was the substance that consumed the man. He drank Jack Daniels; unable to cope with his immeasurable losses. With the passing of time, the man quit and became sober. Befriended by Pacifica Housing, he was able to get into a place of his own. 

Now, there was a connection to the book I had bought earlier that day. 

In A Grace Disguised, the author Jerry Sittser lost his mother, wife and daughter in one multiplied tragedy, when a drunk driver took their lives. 

Bending down to hug Susan, I embraced all the sorrow that was flowing from us. Over the next ½ hour, we talked about many things; especially about flagging faith in times of despair. In keeping our conversation private, I know at that moment, God needed me to be a street preacher, to someone in dire need. Often, in the most unexpected places you find hope. 

 

Susan spoke of much love for the man she was partners with and asked in my helping others, if I had encountered him? With a weakened smile, she added…

“His name was David. Most knew him as the pencil guy.” 

I was quiet, holding back the tears that wanted to spill freely.  

My voice was mumbled as I replied, “Yes, certainly I met and spoke with him, many times. He was so kind, smiling always. I would offer whatever items I was giving and he always declined, saying pass it along to someone who really needs it.” 

Susan looked at me, she said: “That was why the diagnosis of Cancer was very hard. It happened last year and he was gone.” 

It occurred to me that I had been working in the north, when David died. 

David Irwin ~ the pencil guy    Photo: Pacifica Housing

After an exchange of sympathies, I knew by hugging Susan, that she was a frail woman. My attention shifted onto her as I placed my hand on her shoulder, I asked: 

“If there is anything I could get you right now, what would it be?” 

Susan’s voice was a whisper: “Due to my grief, I don’t eat much anymore. If you could please get me one can of Ensure, I would be grateful.” 

            

Her response overwhelmed me. In a shattered world where dependency is rampant, this lady simply wanted a nutritional supplement drink. 

Hurrying over to the local drugstore, I bought her half a case of Ensure. Needing a bag, I placed them into one I purchased, which seemed well-timed with the quote.

Returning to Susan, I noticed the rain was falling heavier than before. Her reaction to my gifting was one of humbleness.

Thanking me, she remarked, “I only expected one.”

As we hugged and parted ways, Susan reminded me to stay safe! 

It was then I remembered the jacket….

By T L Alton 

 *Certain names have been changed to protect the identity of individuals.