Administration Cuts Affect Homeless: Surprised?!

Let me begin by saying I only know enough to be dangerous and am willing to listen as objectively as possible to alternatives.

Call me a bleeding heart liberal but the following article is disturbing. Though why after 8 years I would continue to be surprised, I have no idea. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in a secure country but I think our security should be wrapped in warm blankets and food on the table not in body bags flown from Baghdad.

For anyone who has helped with the Interfaith Hospitality Network (IHN), the second paragraph is frightening. Recent discussions with friends who work for the Veteran’s Affairs Administration warn of a crisis not only for veteran’s who are currently enrolled in services, but a crisis for those who return with needs far greater for far longer. I do indeed appreciate the sacrifices our service people make. They volunteer for this hell. There are those who say if they volunteer, “they” know what they are in for. It would seem to me if our Commander in Chief has the wherewithal to call for troops, he darn well ought to back up their “volunteer” care. It needs to be noted that benefits enjoyed (rightly so) by full time army personnel are NOT often open to National Guard and reserve troops. Healthcare, housing subsidies and other benefits are simply not offered. Since the reserve was not designed to serve as they are currently serving, those troops perhaps rely on regular employment in the civilian world to take care of some of those needs. I don’t know the whys of this but am outraged by the consequences of short sightedness.

By the way, did you know disability insurance excludes injuries caused by war? Just an FYI.

It appears the Administration can indeed say truthfully they increased funding, yet with our economy slowing exponentially and jobs losing benefits, this will not be enough to handle any variation of any economic indicator that will affect those on the margins.

Jesus tells us the poor will always be with us but we are also reminded that when we feed, clothe, or attend to one of these, we also tend to the Christ.

See below and for more:

http://www.endhomelessness.org/content/article/detail/1881

The Administration released its proposed budget for fiscal year (FY) 2009 on February 4. It proposes an increase for the Department of Defense, cuts to health care programs, and about $2.4 billion less for domestic discretionary programs other than Homeland Security. Domestic discretionary programs include most of the housing, human service, veterans, education, and infrastructure programs that help low-income people. After
accounting for inflation, these programs would be cut by 4 percent from last year.

Funding for the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development's (HUD's) McKinney Vento Homeless Assistance Grants would increase by $50 million (3 percent), much less than is necessary even to keep up with increasing renewals of permanent supportive housing. The proposal does not include a prisoner reentry initiative, which the Administration proposed in previous years, or a rapid re housing for families initiative which was funded by Congress last year. The budget for Section 8 includes $75 million for additional HUD-Veterans Affairs Supportive Housing (HUD-VASH) vouchers, which should fund an additional 8,000-10,000 vouchers for homeless veterans.

Many mainstream housing and services programs would be cut substantially. Housing Choice Voucher funding is $1.3 billion less than is needed to continue housing families that are currently assisted. The shortfall could result in at least 100,000 vouchers not being renewed. The Community Development Block Grant (CDBG) program would be cut by $659 million, or almost 20 percent. The $654 million Community Services Block Grant, which alleviates the causes and conditions of poverty, would be eliminated. The budget also proposes to cut Medicaid by $18 billion over 5 years.

The Administration's budget is a proposal. Congress will make decisions on actual Funding levels later this year.

Super .......Cold

It is Super Tuesday. And want to know what happens to my Super delegates for John Edwards? Do they just go away? Or get fought over at the convention? I missed that part of civics, I think.

And I have a Super Cold. Those who know me know I have a super cold. I have complained, lamented, and generally whined about it since Sunday. I hate being congested. I must have a recessed memory of being smothered in the womb or something.

One of the top ten things I plan on asking the Creator when I get to the other side is, how is it that such a small orifice can wreak such havoc? I get rid of “stuff” only to have an oh so brief moment of air and boom….more “stuff”. I did manage to get to the health center today only to promise hell and half of Georgia to the Nurse Practioner if she would give me some decongestant that worked. So I have some big time breathing relief but a cough from the bad place. So I will go for some meds for that next…..

Another thing that a cold does is get me banished to what I am now calling “The Cave”. We have a guest room off of our room. It is an odd shaped room and dark as pitch. We have recently had ideas of making it a study, which serves it well. But in its darkness, it is now “The Cave”. Where I lay breathing. My smothered breath and tortured cough. The darkness surrounds me and closes in and I hear a voice in the distance. It’s Heidi…from outside The Cave.

“Can you take out the garbage before it storms?”

Well, ok.

Rites of Winter

It is flannel sheet time!! I am so excited. I came in last night and crawled into bed, which is difficult with a 17 lb beagle who hogs the covers, and discovered the warm fuzziness of flannel.

Some folks look to snow for the sure sign of winter, I look to flannel sheets.

They are indeed a rite of this time of the year. I am not so crazy about cottton sheets unless it is about 900 degrees. I am cold natured and very often wear sweats in the summer. Cotton sheets were great when I was a kid and would kick them up in the air and let the “tent” they created fall down around me. Now? They can stay in the closet.

Once I settled in and got warm, I was almost immediately transported back to my bed at as a child. I had a single bed with a trundle. Granted the winters in Knoxville weren’t all that cold but they got cold enough. The heat was turned down and my nose was about all that was exposed (more on my reasons why I sleep with the covers over my head later). I can see the snow in my mind’s eye. And hear the quiet of it all. The mattress itself had long formed to my body. I realized that several years ago as I stayed the night. I knew where my arms went and where my leg had laid for oh about 10 years.

I also thought about summers at camp. Yes, we had flannel sheets (well I did!). It could get cold in the mountains of Western North Carolina in June. I can almost hear the frogs at the lake and the crickets wherever they live. And feel the dew in the early mornings as the wake up bell rang. I just wanted to sleep a little longer. But only because the heat of the day would bring laughter and lightening bugs.

This morning I did sleep a little longer. Snuggled in for a long winter’s nap.
Too bad tomorrow is church day. It is supposed to be 14 tonight.

He Wore Cheap Cologne

Life at 8:51 this evening is rather uneventful. I am (was) attempting to read an Ethics assignment for school all the while watching a basketball game that has become a blowout and listening intently for any sounds in the next room as Heidi sleeps off the effects of day 1 after chemo.

I got home late last night from work. An emergency at the hospital which involved a toddler, a car, and a distraught grandfather. It did not end well but I participated in a wonderful and graceful event that reminds me of God’s presence even in the midst of tragedy. I had the privilege to work the case with a wonderful pastor of a church in Middle Tennessee. I am certain if there had been any “real” theological discussion (like death isn’t real!) we would have landed at odds on every major issue. But instead we worked together with the staff in the PED managing logistics, incoming traffic (additional family), and unspeakable grief.

This death was his third of the day. Yes, the DAY. His eyes were wide when I arrived in the Critical Care room. I introduced myself and asked if I could be of assistance. One never knows when a family pastor is already present. I have been summarily dismissed and summarily ignored in some situation. It was 4: 45 and I was hungry so a dismissal would have passed without incident.

But he was shell shocked and asked me to tend to the grandparents in a nearby conference room. So my work began. Together, we shuttled family members back and forth to the child’s room all the while trying to be mindful of the other parents and children who are there for various injuries and illnesses that are not life threatening. It is difficult to hold the hand of a grandfather when there are pairs of eyes watching from a sliding glass door knowing exactly what has happened and sending silent prayers up for their own kids. I feel as sorry for them as I do for the family of the deceased. I have mentioned to others before that I walk the line between joy and pain in the width of a hallway. Guilt goes around, either by virtue of action or virtue of gratefulness. It matters not.

The hardest part by far is telling the family it is time to go. The business of death begins with medical examiner protocol (as was the case here) and decisions regarding funeral arrangements. Parents should never have to bury their children, particularly at two years old and particularly when their bodies are broken and blood spilled. You must return home to a place that will never be the same again. Ever. Sending them out into the emptiness of a cold evening with fogged heads and broken hearts.

Into the darkness of the night and the darkness of their own souls.

A Good Day

Sometimes, we forget. Forget the fear and the unknown. Sometimes, like today, we feel normal. A normal couple doing normal things. Making fun of our favorite basketball coaches and eating bad arena food.

Today we went to the Vanderbilt women’s game. It was awful. We lost to ODU by 15. Pitiful really. But we did make fun of Wendy Larry, the ODU coach. And the lady who sat behind her who wore stretch leggings and high heels and could jump up on those high heels like nobody’s business. Wendy and her crying towel. Wendy and her close to but not quite inappropriate touching.

Yesterday we drove home from Wisconsin. It was cold there but we returned to 50 degree weather. We each played DJ on the way home. It is a surprise game where whoever is not driving gets control of the iPod. One minute may be Brooks and Dunn and the next be AC/DC. Well, on my iPod anyway. Heidi’s would include some Diana Krall. We had a mini dance party in the Expedition.

We play and then we remember who we are again. We remember what it is to be happy. Really happy. Laughing, making up dance moves (all while driving). Contorting poor Summitt into a break dancer. We remember what it is to live. To laugh and love. To be content. To look toward a future.

For a few hours.

Let It Snow...

We spent Christmas in Wisconsin visiting Heidi’s mother in Waunakee, a suburb of Madison. This was my fourth or fifth visit but my first when there was snow on the ground. Now, I have been when it was cold as a witches titty, but not snowy.

There were at least 22 inches on the ground when we got there.

Seriously.

Folks up there are used to it. I, however, am not. I still act as though I am 10 years old and out for school on a snow day. I was chastised because I got my pants wet making snow angels and I insisted on traipsing through snow banks instead of walking to the house on the sidewalks which were cleared of snow. It just made more sense that way.

But some things I had forgotten. Like how quiet snow is. It muffles any sound and seems to absorb even the slightest noise. I forget this as I live in an inner city neighborhood and even as I write this the sound of the interstate intrudes into an otherwise quiet night. Summitt and I ventured out each morning at 4:00 am. Her idea, not mine but despite the un Christian hour, I am grateful for the reminder. On our first night we were greeted with a full moon shining just above a neighbor’s blue Christmas lights. The silver and blue hue was beautiful. Even to my sleepy eyes. Summitt had to tug on me to go back in.

Friday morning brought another 5 inches. I ate breakfast in the sun room that looked into the backyard. I was mesmerized by the snowfall. Not heavy at all but it was enough for me who thinks 2 inches is a big storm.

Friday was a gift. I was reminded all day of my mom’s tense relationship with the weather. She lived in snow in upstate New York, yet dreaded it immensely here in the south. Not that I blame her. But on this day, I remembered what she did love about it… to lay on the couch with a book and a cup of hot chocolate, letting the dog settle in at her feet, and watching out the window. So I spent some time doing just that. It was good.

Yeah. I could get used to it.

Groovyness in a Conference Room

We are gathered in a library conference room. 5 of us. All women who have a desire to serve and to even save perhaps. An Episcopalian, two Disciples of Christ, a Presbyterian, and me… a mish mash of traditions.

It is this that keeps me hopeful. This community of faithful who want to DO and not just be. This community of the holy “together”.
As we struggle to find our voices, they become clear in our presence, the presence of each other. The struggle is not so much how to get our voices heard, but what they will say to a world broken and bruised. One in our midst is gifted in economic justice. She has traveled the world and made inroads into communities that are hopeful. She is graceful in her presence. And gifted in her ministry. And makes a great Pumpkin something or other one of her culinary treats she obtained from India.

Another is a former teacher who sees the world as a place to teach but better yet allows it to teach her. Although she will say she it only tells her she doesn’t “know shit.” Which isn’t true. She calls it like it is and that in itself is necessary and needed. And “groovy on the ground.” I think she is fearless.

The third is a woman from Ohio who has the heart of an angel. Who feels the depth of the hurt in this world. She too has interest in economic justice but also has a love for the community of the church she serves. She encourages me and loves me as the others here do in their own ways.

Our resident Presbyterian struggles with how to use her intellect in a world of congregations that appear to not care. She is a gifted analyst of how things work and how things are. She is not afraid to critique her own journey of faith, although I think she needs to give herself some grace. It is what got her to where she is.

And then me, who is basking in the cloudy day outside. Fearful of many big life challenges at the moment, but privileged to be able to share this journey … all of it... with people such as these.

If our laptops hold out, we might make a difference. As if we haven’t already.