My Heart Aches Because of It: A Tribute to Home

My heart aches for what I've never really had.


I've known how it felt to be homeless; since I knew
I was alive; I've been right here.
It's a scary place to be especially when you have
little people depending on you.

Alone.

Don't get me wrong, I have my faith. I trust and believe God,
yet I know where I am.
I know I'm alone and sometimes I feel the walls collapsing in on me.

People expect me to be strong; therefore,
many of them don't take the time
to see whether or not I'm okay.

For the last week, I was not.
Oh how I pushed hard pass that feeling
resonated through me like a disturbed
tuning fork...vibrating through my soul.

Every meeting, every conversation with a
bill collector, every moment a new bill came up,
every dispute I had about what I owed, each time I had to correct my children...
I began to feel boxed in. I had no adult interaction (except for at work).

I think it was greater than soulish lethargy; it felt like a                deep unavoidable sadness.
I longed for someone to share with...to spend some time.
I wanted to go somewhere other than work and to the shelter.

I had some really great things to happen. I found out that an agency
would pay all of our start-up costs going into a new place as well as
assist me with finding a place in a safe neighborhood. When I went to
the meeting, that's when I started noticing that I was doing it again.
My eyes would swell with tears and, somehow, I would dry them.

I never knew how I did that. I used to do it every time I told my story (an excerpt from my memoir When Feather Died):

...When he pointed the gun to my face and told me I wasn't going anywhere, my insides froze and suddenly I was immobilized. I wanted to beg and plead for him to let me go. All of my hard exterior crumbled. I wanted to be free. I didn't care if I had nowhere to go; I just wanted to be free to go outside...I just wanted to walk around and be free. I wanted to go back to my apartment above Chandlers and sit on the couch that grandma Richardson had given me. All of a sudden I missed my friends and my family (not matter how they treated me or discarded me); I needed to be free, but he wouldn't let me go and my nightmare and  claustrophobia began. The incident confused me.

There were times after that when I wanted to go outside so badly, yet others when I was afraid to go outside. He told me there was someone outside who would shoot me if I left. There was a car outside everyday with a guy in it...he sat there everyday and drove off when he got back home. I was terribly afraid to go outside after that; however, if I stayed in the house for too long, I began very nervous and started to cry as I left;  the fear built when I approached the door....

Each time I told this story, there were a few things that happened: I felt a flushing come over my body, my breathing increased, my body froze (just as it did when he told me I couldn't leave), and I felt as though I would cry, my eyes swelled with tears, but (just as I did when he told me I couldn't leave)  I couldn't cry...my tears went back where they came from.

I knew where it came from. The negative things people had said and done to me since I could remember: the constant molestations (from gropings, to grindings and disrobing to things even more vile that I will, for this memoir, say...etc), the lack of concern for my feelings (I was told I was nothing and I would never become anything more than I heard my own name...oh, how I needed to hear my name...it's such a beautiful name), the constant secrets and my family's charge to be tough and not to let people see me cry. My tears were trapped inside of me and that made me hard. I don't think I became a sweet, soft woman until I knew it was okay for me to cry...it took me years to do that and I still have problems with crying.

In all of my many negative memories...the trauma...I understood why I couldn't cry. I was taught it was a sign of weakness.

So I sit in our little shelter apartment and feel so bottled up and closed in. I want to go outside. I need adult company, but I can't find anyone I trust who wants to spend time with me...except for on Facebook.

Facebook saves the day. Yep, Facebook!

Sure, I went to God and prayed about my situation. I told Him how lonely and abandoned I felt. I let my tears flow and He comforted me. Then, I went on Facebook and started talking to my fam from Robbins, Cal Park and inner-city Chicago. All of my friends that knew me when I was growing up, yet somehow never knew my sufferings. I got to talk about those greasy Mary's Diner polishes and the even greasier fries (I used to get my polish with extra jalapenos, but when I couldn't afford that, I would get the cheese burger...the guy in there always gave me extra fries) and how you could get  Mrs. Presswood's amazing freeze cups (I loved the ones w/two flavors) flipped them upside down in the cup and walked around all day long with blue lips from...Man, Mrs. Presswood was the neighborhood grandmother of the old projects and didn't mind throwin' her shoe at you if you did somethin' wrong...and you knew she would tell you family everything you did because she cared enough to keep you in check. I started remembering the hot pickles (Shannon used to get a dill one and put a peppermint in it...ewww) or some hot hog-head cheese at Mr. Mickey's or the penny candy at Chandlers; my favorite chip combinations included Okee-Doke popcorn and Hot-Stuff Jay's potato chips (my all time favorite chips were Evans Hot Corn Chips (they don't taste the same now). If you had a dollar, you had a bunch of candy...enough to make you sick...I loved Mr. Chandler and Mr. Mickey (they were so good to me when I lived above Chandler's store...they really looked out for me)! I miss them even now.

When I moved to the new projects, the war-zone, it was all about Mr. Tony at Jets Food and Liquor. We'd take that book of stamps over there and go grocery shopping and prices were marked up on most items about 300%...gotta love those little stores right next to the projects. It was no Mickey's or Chandler's, but it was the place to go if you lived in the new. During late nights on the weekends, if you had the money, you could have some rib tips from Blanchard's; the sauce was so good that you could eat it with the fries on a piece of bread and you could swear you had some of their famous rib tips.

If you went to DDE (Dwight D. Eisenhower) you went to the Card's Nest (right across the street from the school). Their specialty used to be the cheese fries (chilli-cheese fries if you like chilli). I used to leave campus everyday (if I had the money...they were only a dollar). And who could forget good 'ol Beggars Pizza?!

When I left the south suburbs and moved to Chicago, my main spots were Wiener's Circle (near the Cabrini Green's infamous red buildings off of Clark) I visited Cabrini frequently and went to Wiener's Circle on my as I journeyed down Clark to the intersection of Clark and Sedgwick, Home of the Hoagy on 111th near Rosland (I used to stay on 114th and Calumet...the crazy things I went through over there) and Giordanos (I like Homerun Inn, but Giordanos will always be my personal favorite).

Grant Park, the lakefront...Rush St, Water Tower Place, the Esquire...How I used to walk from the Magnificent Mile to the Gold Coast and then to Hilton & Towers on Michigan and Balboa...How I rode the L all night sometimes so I could have somewhere to sleep...How I used to wash myself in the restroom at Mc Donalds and hide myself so the police couldn't see me as I slept under the stars. I felt safer there for some odd reason...away from people's homes where it seemed I was such a bother.

I started remembering Evergreen Plaza on 95th and Western (where I could get multiple outfits for $100 dollars) and Sharlenes (or was it Charlene's) Unisex salon "It's the look of a star...Charlene's" (how ever you spell it)...I got my first professional relaxer and geometric bob done there. I was so fly...just call me Yo Chilla! Okay, just kiddin' please don't call me that.

Talk about nostalgia!

I became overjoyed!

As we chatted on Facebook and shared my blog with my Chi-fam, I realized that we all made it through rough time, and I was better aware that the only people who understood me were the ones who saw it, lived it and were damaged by it just as I was...Finally, some people who understood my struggle. They may not have been or known what I was going through, yet each one of them had a and still have a story...For many of them, it is hidden in halted suppurations within their breasts (or chest). Then a new feeling came over me...

I really missed home.

There is a good side to that though. At least I was able to access those good memories: going to the parties at teen club that Sgt. Parks started to keep us out of trouble, I remembered him yelling at me saying : "I don't want to hear I don't care from you girl; I'm not gonna let you give up on your life...You have a future! I know you've been through some terrible things, but you have to take your life back!"

I was reminded about Mrs. Russell...she is still and always will be my mom...

She saved my life.

Who would pick up a child she didn't know who had nowhere to go? She made me get in her car! She wouldn't take "no" for an answer and, when she took me home, she treated me as though I was one of her own. She loved me and her children followed suit. I remembered talking to Jerry and telling him my story. He told me he would protect me and he was the only guy his age that hadn't tried to touch me or have sex with me; he was my brother and he listened to me as though I meant something to him...I wasn't the toy that men played with...that was raped nearly every night for two years...that was awaken out of her sleep being raped...clothes ripped off...ravished...I was a human being. I was a girl. For the first time, I became a teenager and I hadn't ever known what that felt like. I got sleep and it felt so good.

It was the best three weeks of my teenage years. My best teenage memories were in that house staring with Art, my one and only middle-school crush who became my brother. Shawn, their little sister, pretty much tolerated me and I think eventually liked me...maybe even loved me (I appreciate you for giving up some of your girl-space for me) and Mike, well, he was just sweet enough to say three words a day...he was so quiet. I never felt like I was out of place there and I was so glad to be safe.

Now, I'm 38; I'm the homeless teacher and sometimes my heart aches because I was never really close to my family. However, I know God is doing something during this dispensation. He has reconnected me with some people for a reason. He has taught me both to honor and value myself...to see myself as a diamond...that I am truly as soft as a flower.

I dedicate this entry to all of my friends and family from Robbins, Harvey, Cal Park and Inner-City Chi. I love you guys from the bottom of my heart and I thank God for allowing you to come back into my life. You make my heart full. You are invaluable and, when I get out of this, when I publish my first book project (shortly), my first stop will be home...I both love and miss you guys!

Still Standing

Still Standing

I’m still standing
Out of the heart of the low places I come

I’m still standing
Many a battle fought long and hard

But

I’m still standing
Running the race set before me with patience,
Not willing to fall

I’m still standing
Through it all,
with His might
I am strong, strengthened and fortified

I’m still standing
And I won’t fall
For I am waiting and resting

Standing still
Standing still

I would be a liar if I said my predicament was easy...It's not! (Not even a little)

Today, I was scheduled to move my large furniture into a warehouse. I had hoped to be able to get it all in without a problem.

I found waking up an issue this morning.

I felt very ill. I couldn't breathe through my nose and I had an enormous headache.

I dragged my flesh to church and it wasn't easy, but I did it. I blessed God for the things I couldn't see. A safe place for me and my boys as well as a the completion of a book project that I'd been holding on to forever.

I was excited to be able to move my things and I was ready to do so even though I felt so tired and sickly.

As soon as my help arrived, I called the man that would store my things for free. He was doing me a huge favor. Although I appreciated him, I knew he wasn't too happy about helping me and that's something I've noticed since I've been in this predicament:

Many people have assisted us with a willing heart. It has been helpful in many instances because I have already dealt with so much pain and regret...so much anxiety and much more pain.

Unfortunately, it seems that, for every other person willing to help me without judgement or reproach, I have had at least one crass remark, at least one apathetic comment and at least one person snub their nose at me (usually casting blame on me for one reason or another).

Today, I was berated and I didn't enjoy it one bit.

When I called the guy earlier this week, he instructed me to call him today to let him know when my help arrived. I called him and his demeanor was very repulsive. He yelled at me. He accused me of not having my stuff together because I didn't have someone who owned a large moving truck. I was devastated; however, I allowed him to get off of the phone because I appreciated what he was doing for us...I stood there, in the three bedroom house we used to inhabit, looking at our things. I became overcome with sadness. All of a sudden, a lethargy came over me and I felt soul sick. I thought about what he yelled: "I'm a business man and, if I'm gonna help you, I don't expect to be standin' around all day waitin' on you!"  I thought, Wait a minute, I've done everything he told me to. I called him when my help got here and I told him I had no idea how large her truck was. Why is he yelling at me?

Before I knew it, I became vehemently angry; I was flooded with the same kind of anger that came over me when I was sick and tired of being picked on in school...so exhausted with being bullied when I was growing up.

We'd moved in the projects.

When we lived in Inglewood, CA, all of the kids loved me. I never had a problem with bullies, no one wanted to cut my hair, everyone wanted to be my friend. I had so many friends in Cali. Unfortunately, moving to Chicago, especially Robbins, wasn't as friendly. My hair flowed down my back to the middle of my waist. I don't know why, but girls wanted to cut it. Several times girls wanted to wack off my curly locks. I was cornered in bathrooms, on the playground and on my way home. My mother had to start putting my hair in two ponytails so that I could pull my hair around front to avoid losing my locks.

I guess my mind went back there because, when I was being bullied, I always thought If I had superpowers, I would kill you! All I had was a stare because I was too little to defend myself. My sister Shannon was there to get them away from me, but not every time. I needed some help every time I stepped outside! When we moved to the "new" projects, it just got worse. There was only one girl who understood me was another girl they kept picking on. She had to cut someone to keep them off of her hair.

Jealousy. The way it makes others speak to you!

The only issue I dealt with was Why am I so angry?


He was berating me. Talking to me as though I was nothing. I had done everything he asked me to, yet he didn't care, he had to yell at me because I was beneath him. I was nothing because I needed him and, if I wanted his help, I had to take it.

I thought about it...bullies. How, after years and years of being bullied, I began pulverizing them. At some point, I became evil. I was beyond fed up and the insanity within me longed to murder one of them. At age 16 a darkness fell upon me. I was still afraid, yet my fear turned me to thoughts of lifeless bodies, hatred and thoughts of murder. My mother bullied me into allowing men to rape me and I felt so unsafe that the innocence within me that cried, died. I played the harlot and with each rape I became more and more angry. I was less and less human. By the time the one bully, who had tortured me for at least three years, came to fight me. After years of avoiding her and, cowering as she pelted things at me: bottles, rocks, cans, food...etc, I tried to kill her.

She finally came to me after school, when we got off of the bus, to fight me. The bus unloaded. Everyone got off. Everyone else knew what was going to happen...everyone but me. I had on a skirt and a pair of penny loafers. As I walked with my knock-off Gucci bag, I heard the crowd gathering behind me, laughing. I had a bad feeling. Something bad was probably about to happen. It would happen to me.

Before we exited the bus, the girl's cousin threw a book at me and it hit me in the head. I threw it back at him, but I didn't aim to hit him. I only wanted to save-face. He claimed that I would get a beating after I got off of the bus. I said "I haven't even done anything to you!" His sisters were supposed to be my friends. I had been hanging out with them for about six months...I thought Maybe they didn't like me after all. I didn't really have many friends.

As I attempted to make it to our apartment, I heard the crowd getting closer. Suddenly, I felt the force of a great push that nearly knocked me off of my feet. I turned around...afraid. "You messin' with Squirmy?..." Squirmy was her boyfriend and he claimed he was in love with me. I didn't like him so I didn't care. "No! Don't nobody want Squirmy but you. Tell him to stop beggin me to get with him. I don't want him" I retorted as the trembling fear within grew so much that I thought everyone could see it.

"Kick her ___" the crow yelled. The immense crowd was a mixture of residents of the projects as well as our empty bus. There were plenty of people out there, yet I was all alone.

I didn't have any friends. No one was saying "Don't do this" or "Yo, I got your back." Everyone out there wanted to see me get beat down. Everyone wanted to watch me bleed and I hadn't done anything to anyone.

The girl was much bigger than I was (at least a size 16, I was a size 6) so I was afraid.

She attempted to hit me in the face. I moved and she missed me by about an inch. I had moved just in the nick of time and, from an origin I knew not, my fist became mobile and connected with her face. Her nose began to bleed immediately; the blood sprang forth like a small red fountain.

"I don't want to fight you!" I yelled.

"Leave me alone!"

I grabbed her like a man and began beating her. She seemed defenseless. All she was able to do was grab my hair. She pulled it out and the wind carried it through the street. I put her in a headlock and punched her in the face several times until it was bloody and bruised. Finally, I had enough and I hip-tossed her. The crowd was amazed.

Her best friend picked me up and threw me in the street. I nearly got hit by a car.

As the crowd called me Tyson and many whisper "Look at ____ face; she beat her down." We walked through the middle of the projects with the crowd chanting " Tyson, Tyson, Tyson! ". Just then some one told the girl's cousin " Look what she did to her face! ". Her male cousin began hitting me in my head as I attempted to shield his blows. Then, her older female cousin came they told her the same thing, knowing she was a prized-fighter, I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. She jumped on my back and latched on like a huge leach; I flung her off and continued to run.

She couldn't catch me.

About an hour later, the police came and picked me up. At the police station, I was escorted into an interviewing room. The moment the door closed, the two officers began laughing, but I had no idea why so I didn't crack a smile.

"You beat that big girl up like that?" the first officer said

"Did you see her face?!" yelled another

"I didn't mean to do it" I continued "She tried to hit me first. I was just defending myself"

"Man, you messed her up!" one officer said as between laugher (his entire face red and tears streaming down his lofty cheeks).                                             

" I was just defending myself shes been bothering me for three years..."

I explained the whole story: how every one at least six different stops got off of the bus to watch her beat me up, how her cousin hit me with a book, how her friend threw me in the street, and how I tried to get away and they wouldn't leave me alone.

One of the officers explained that I wasn't in trouble and that a couple of witnesses had come forward and explained that I didn't start anything and that I was trying to avoid the fight. I was relieved that, even though no one came to take up for me, at least someone thought enough of me to say something to the authorities.

I felt vendicated. It was the first time in my life that I had been.

During the ordeal with the moving company guy, I felt as though my life went backward to a time where I was bullied because I was percieved to be either weaker, or I was seen as someone who was inferior or insignificant. I hated that feeling and I still do.

After calling the man back to defend myself, but in a godly way, he refused to see things my way. All I asked is that he wouldn't berate me and I told him that I was offended. I also explianed that, if he wanted me to pay him, I would and that he didn't have to do it for me as a favor...I would much rather have his respect.

He refused to take my money and continued to yell at me making Sunday a character-building day for me. I told my case manager, who was helping us move, what I thought of the guy and all of the people who has spewed out their remarks about my situation and how many people really didn't want to help us. Instead, it was and is some people's opportunity to gossip, gloat and otherwise kick someone they feel is beneath them. Unfortunately, just in case they don't know, this could happen to anyone (including them).

The blessing through my tough day occurred when we made it to his warehouse. I didn't want to talk to him so I allowed the case manager to do so. By the time we got to the warehouse, I was convinced that I wouldn't say anything; instead, I would  remain silent and do whatever it was that I needed to do. Somehow I would find his address and send him money whether he wanted me to or not. When I got out of my Jeep to help the case manager, the man asked "Who is the youn lady I'm trying to help?" I stepped forward to shake his hand and he said: "If I have said anything to offend you, I'm sorry. I just want everything to be on-point. I'm a business man." I stated that I understood and thanked him for his assistance.

As I left, I felt a renewed spirit. Not many people have wronged me and apologized for it. I blessed God for the opportunity to hear an apology. After apologizing, the guy also pledged his support. He sent a team of movers to my old place and had them move all of my large items, free-of-charge to his warehouse.

In the end, I pray God will bless him for his role in my victory. I also thank God for my ability to speak up for myself. I know that I have certain issues that relate to how I am spoken to as well as how I am treated, yet I also know that, no matter how someone sees me, I am still the righteousness of God in Christ Jesus, created for good works. He knows my name, He loves and protects me and I am important to Him.

If you are going through the same thing, know that I'm praying for you. I love you and I respect you so much. Never forget how valuable you are. Please email me if you need prayer at yolandawhitted@msn.com.

Blesses My Soul When I Hear It

It wasn't until today that I realized I hadn't said it....
Well, actually I have, but in acronym form:

I love you!

Yep, I'm talking to you.
I don't know, I just felt the need to
say it and I don't think you mind
Many of us don't hear it enough anyhow.

Okay, so, now that I've said it, let me explain why I am behaving so amourously.
You are a blessing to me (even if you don't leave a comment). The fact that you look forward to my writings, even if you don't read them all, fills my heart with joy.

I love to hear it myself...just about as much as I love to say it. It sound so unctuous when we are serious about it.

I LOVE YOU!

Now, I have to tell you what was going on today and yesterday (that may give you a hint about why I have met your eyes with such veneration).

You have a story. Your story may not be the same as mine; however, you do have a story to tell.

Some of us are ashamed of our story. We just don't know how people will react to it or what they may think of us afterward, so we bury it...and it makes us sick.

A friend of mine applauded me for being so candid in both of my blogs, this one as well as Why I Cant
Date: Memoirs of a Single Woman (http://whyicantdate.blogspot.com). I had another friend of mine who stated that she was saddened by many of the things she didn't know I was going through. She even went so far as to say that she wanted my books to come out so that I could show the people who abandoned me.

I appreciated both friends admonishment. It felt good for someone to care about what has occurred in my life...every drastic turn and even more that they were reading every entry as if my story had already made it to print.

That's when I thought about it. It took so much for me to do this blog. I'm homeless. I'm a teacher. I have students, colleagues, family, friends, old classmates...you name it on my Facebook, yet I announced it to everyone. I got so tired of being cryptic. I didn't want to hide my face anymore. I didn't want to remain silent. I was tired of think about what others would say behind my back. I did it for a few days and I felt sorry for myself:

It's all my fault I thought. I'm a bad mother!

Suddenly, the Holy Spirit arrested me and I didn't resist. God reminded me that He would bless nations through my story. He didn't want me to worry about the naysayers and prognosticators. He wanted me to think of the lives that would be touched by our story. The souls that would regain lost hope. The prodigal who had lost his/her way. The Chrisitan who went against God's will and still had a house...still had their riches...those who were taking both His mercies and His wealth for granted. The seemingly forgotten ones who believed that they were valueless. God has something in my story for everyone.

The same is true with your story. Maybe you don't feel comfortable writing (not everyone will). However, if you have a voice or hands and fingers to sign, you can tell your story. There is someone out there waiting for you to say: I've been through this and sometimes I feel this way or that way, but I make it though everyday by God's unmerited favor over my life...His grace!

When was the last time you started telling your story, not so much for you to tell someone about Jesus, but so that they could SEE Jesus in you?

Think about it. If you're holding on to your story, you're both complicating your healing time as well as cutting short someone's deliverance:

"Confess your sins to each other and pray for each other so that you may be healed. The earnest prayer of a righteous person has great power and produces wonderful results." James 5:16 NLT

I admonish you to share your story. When we have a story and remain silent, our enemy has the victory! We rob both ourselves and others of the healing Jesus died for. ILY brothers and sisters!

Don't worry about what others will think of you, share your ministry and be healed. You have nations waiting with bated breath & hungry ear...What in the world are you waiting on?

I will always pray for you and with you. You can still reach me at yolandwhitted@msn.com If you want, we can even share stories. I do love you!

The Weight

I didn't have much to eat.

Nothing really good or nutritious.

I began to feel depleted and sick. I couldn't exercise and I didn't know what to do.

I was beginning to gain weight and, as hard as I worked to keep get all of that weight off and keep it off, there was NO way I would lie there and allow myself to expand.

One morning I woke up and looked at my tummy. It looked horrible and it was sticking out.

I hadn't ran in three months and it was getting to me. I had no problem eating much of nothing and doing absolutely nothing.

I felt depression looming overhead and I could barely raise my head to shake it.

My doc gave me some zoloft, but I stopped taking it. I couldn't find it. Our stuff was everywhere.

I stepped outside to take out some trash; the sun beamed so bright that I could barely think. I felt as though it shined right through me.

I felt a peace come over me and then exude from me. Miah came running out of the house behind me; Jay ran after him as though he had done something wrong.

"Jay, what's wrong" I asked as Miah screamed and squirmed

"I can't get him to stay inside" He replied angrily, his right eye completely closed from a corneal infection.

I turned to him and said "Let him go, it's okay"

I realized at that moment that we had been out of the house, but we hadn't been outside. Instead, we went to the jeep and we went to the store. We went to the school and I took Miah to Mrs. Toni's house, yet he hadn't been able to burn of that two-year-old steam.

He loves to run. He just wants to run and I need to run. I couldn't help but think about how great it felt to run and how proud I was that I always took the time to run. Running kept me energized, refreshed and whole. I gave my body a lift when I ran and I felt capable of getting through every struggle right after I ran.

I ran to overcome my fear of being raped again. I ran to proclaim that I was beautiful. I ran to give myself a chance to be happy. I ran to feel free. I was even more gorgeous than the butterfly and hummingbirds tattooed on my skin. I didn't want to lose my beauty and it all came from running because each time I was running, I knew I was giving my heart a chance to live through every broken promise, every disappointment, every shattered dream...my physical heart beat better and my spiritual heart was more alive.

I missed that feeling and I wanted it back.

I had an appointment to look at a house in town. I decided that, after I was done looking at it, I would take my children to the trail.

My baby was ready to go. I couldn't and didn't move quickly enough. As I attempted to talk to my potential landlord, Miah became impatient. He started to become visibly upset, but as I saw the sun begin to say fond goodnights to the east, I knew I wasn't being fair to him, to us. I needed to go to that trail and Miah wasn't gonna let me forget that.

I bid the man a farewell and headed to the legendary Tobacco Trail. Although it isn't very scenic this time of year, it is one of the most beautiful places to run with your family.

Miah was so excited that he didn't want anyone to hold his hand. He just wanted to get on that trail as soon as possible and once I let him go, he was running a marathon.

That's when it hit me. He just needed to be free and so did I. Jay did too.

Homelessness had confined us all and God was using Miah's unrelenting spirit, a little boy with terrible asthma, to show us to appreciate our flight into destiny.

We're on our way. We may not see it, we may not feel it sometimes, we may not even believe like we should at time, yet God had not forgotten our little family. We would be free from our plight, and, because Miah was driven by the mind of a beautiful two years of life. He wasn't going to allow anyone to hold him down. He wouldn't let that little apartment hold him back. He knew he was born to soar, so he gave up on being grounded.

That's my pookiebear! Both of my children are so incredibly wonderful and God had taught us such a message through one another and it's taught everyday...outside of the classroom.

If you feel boxed up and need to feel more free, please pray with me. You can e-mail me at any time at yolandawhitted@msn.com. ILY! GBY!

Some Times it Trinkles Down

Sometimes,
I sit and wonder what will happen next.

My predicament is so unpredictable. It's not just the homelessness it's my lack of finances and, at times, the assistance I receive (both planned and extemporaneous).

Although many of us would prefer a monsoon of blessings, sometimes all we get are those constant trickles. I remember once a friend of mine asked a thought provoking question on her Facebook status: (I think it went like this) "Which would you prefer: a steady flow or a deluge of blessings? Although many people chose the deluge option. I remember some people reasoning their desires to have a steady flow of blessings.

This is how the blessings have trickled down since we've been homeless:

I needed an oil change and one of my colleagues sent me a message through Facebook. She came to me the next day and brought my a gift certificate for Jiffy Lube.

Just when I thought we would run out of food, one of my colleagues gave me a Walmart card.

A good friend of mine called me one day and told me to go to Walmart. He had wired me $65 dollars. Even though I ran out of gas right after we went to get the money, we were okay because God sent a couple to help us. They took me to purchase a gas can, put the gas in my tank, paid for our gas and gave me gas money.

The same friend that sent me money came to town and spent valuable time with us. He went to Jay's concert and watch football with us. Cowboys won...I wasn't happy. (Sorry Cowboy fans)Before he left, Jay had a coat and I had new clothes to wear to work and a coat that I could fit.

On Friday (the 15th), I spent time wondering: After a couple of weeks, I have to figure out what we will eat. During the week, my children had ravished our supply and I hadn't been eating like I should've so I felt very depleted and ill. I felt cold everyday. My children were eating well, but I had been eating popcorn...that's it. Just popcorn.

Miah was coming home, but, thankfully, Jay was going over a friend's house; therefore, I knew he would get a decent meal. Miah got to me fed and read for sleep.

Great! I thought. Now, all I have to be concerned about it tomorrow.

I worked on putting food together for the next day.

He ate pancakes for breakfast, some sausage and bread for lunch and dinner...Well, dinner was a little "up in the air"

I looked through my purse. I had $11 and I couldn't think of anything I could buy for both myself and Miah and I couldn’t miss a meal because I was feeling so ill.

Golden Coral! I had just enough money to do it and both of us could eat well. I had plenty of breakfast, so dinner was all I had to contend with, and, since Miah was the only one there, it was only $11 with tax.

Miah loved it! Everyone around us was impressed by this gregarious little boy. I was so proud of him and, by the time we left, he was full.

I thought about the rest of the weekend and my mind went back to the seemingly endless stash of pancakes in the fridge. As for dinner on Sunday, I made some pasta and turkey with turnip greens. I couldn't eat any of that because everything had meat in it. I ate...popcorn.

When we went to church on Sunday, I didn't feel homeless at all. I just lived! Forget it! I'm not going to worry; I'll just find something to fast about. I was tired of popcorn. Sick of getting hull stuck in my teeth. Let us consecrate a fast; our church was already on consecration.

As the day waned on, I realized that I would need that prayer time. As I communicated with a student on Facebook, I found out that our former principal, Mr. Earl Pappy, died. I was stunned! I loved Mr. Pappy. He had his faults, but he had always stuck by me and stuck up for me. I was very sad.

Poor Jay, who woke up with his eye swollen shut, had to be taken to the hospital and now has to wear a patch and take an ointment in his eye. He has an eye infection and his cornea is scratched. He has to see an ophthalmologist on Tuesday.

Sunday turned into Monday and I was drained.

I didn't even want to think about what they would eat, but it was on my mind. I gave Miah his pancakes. He ate almost every pack I had left, yet this time I refused to say a word. If I had to use the Ramen noodles for the kids, I would. No problem!

I began to work on the advertisements for my new blog and a new entry. I'd been working so hard on trying to get my work out there and I was hoping that I would have a chance to see the fruit of my labor. I didn't, but all was not for nought and I continued to hold on to the word God had given me:

You income will flow through the talents God has given you. God has given you such creativity and He is going to work through that creativity your ability to gain great wealth.

I believed it, but never worked hard toward putting my work out because I was afraid of the rejection that could accompany releasing my work. I lived like that until I became homeless. Once the bottom fell out of my little dream, I said:

"There is no way I'm going to sit here depressed and do nothing! I will write until my voice is heard.
someone will hear and be blessed. I just can't suffer alone."

As Monday pressed on, I received a phone call from one of the darling mothers from my church. She had been doing everything within her power to let me know that, not only did the Lord love me, she did.

God placed it on her heart to provide us with food from her home. She began to ask me what I needed. I was reluctant to tell her, so, as she asked, I replied honestly. She brought e food and then took me and my little family to SAMS and provided us with more than enough to eat until I get paid.

When she dropped me off, she also gave me money for gas and some relish (relish in SAMS was too large to fit in the small refrigerator at the shelter.

I prayed that God would return it to her expeditiously. I asked the Lord: "Please don't make her wait Father; for this thing that she has done for us, please let her receive it right away."

As I sat at home with my belly full of nuts and craisins, I began to finish my blog advertisements. I was concerned that some of the advertisements didn't fit my demographic. She called me again:

"A friend of mine know a really nice guy who is renting a 3 bedroom house for $650. I'll give you his number. Call him and ask him... [a plethora of questions]"

She called and provided the number.

I called him and he told me about the place.

I went to meet him and by the time I did, he said he would reduce the rent to $600, but the house was in very bad shape. The previous tenant left it a mess and left owing him money.

I went for a run with my children on the trail and though of that question. As I watched my 2-year-old run with all of his might, I thought Watch this kid run! He has asthma and currently has an ear infection, yet he is so grateful for legs and power; he is so grateful for grace and skill, that he runs as though his life will end without it. He ran almost a mile, non-stop, with childhood exuberance. He made me want to continue on.

Before I could complete my cool-down, I received a call from the resident coordinator saying that she had some gift certificated for me and that she would leave them in the apartment. “Thank you so much!” I bellowed (nearly breathless from my short, but powerful run). By the time we reached our humble quarters, two gift certificated for Wendy’s and Target waited for us…and I blessed the Lord.


Even though I don't think, for several reasons, that the house is a good fit, I do thank God for showing me that we will have something. I thank Him for sending people to our lives that care about us and want to see us on our feet. I praise God because, even though the man didn't know me, he offered me a good deal on the house and gave me two references for places to get my jeep fixed. I count it joy to be in the temporary, yet humiliating situation.

Today, I want you to take a moment to see what is going on around you. I had to do that and it blessed me beyond measure.

The blessings have been trickling down and that suits me just fine.

Do you need prayer? I'm always here for you. You can e-mail me at yolandawhitted@msn.com. If you need a conversation, please give me a call. I will be more than happy to be a blessing to you in any way I can.

GBY fellow bloggers...ILY xoxo!

Home (For Now)

It feels so good...
Being able to go home.

No matter how much we crave or desire the lifestyle we had, the truth is, it feels good to be able to come home to this place.

I try not to think about the fact that it's temporary. I keep telling myself This too will pass. I keep encouraging myself, yet what is more imporatant to me is to reach out to someone else and bless them somehow. I find myself wanting to do something special for the women and children that frequent the house above us. I want to purchase a fruit basket or something, but I don't have any money right now and the money I do have, I need it to live.

That's where my heart is though. Although we are all homeless, they move around and we get to stay in one place. I'm very grateful that we remain stationary, yet I know it would he hard for me to do what they do. I can barely stay organized and we live in one place.

I caught myself saying it. I'd been saying that we were going to "the place" or to "the shelter." However, the truth is, this place is curerently our home. I called it that for the first time today...and I finally felt blessed to be able to say that: "We're going home."

I found myself longing to sit on that loveseat and relax. I desired to reorganize the storage space in the back. I wanted to fuss over and appreciate the place that God has blessed us. I thought about it all day and I was glad to be able to finally go home.I didn't give it a second thought...what flowed from my heart was a healthy load of thankfulness.

Are you in a tough predicament. Maybe things aren't the way you want or even think they should be? I admonish you to find the great in your situation. For instance, when I think that we could be travelling from extended stay to extended stay again, I just want to run in a praise...a crazy praise.

Do you feel like your situatio isn't fair and you just want to get out? I can pray with you. Although I can't promise that you will be out right away, I can at least promise you that God can give you peace through your situation, if you let Him.

I love you fellow bloggers and I hope your day is somewhat brighter because you received some inspiration from a homeless teacher.

When Being Stranded is A Good Thing

I've felt it and been overwhelmed by it

Stranded

that feeling of abandonment.

I have often found myself bewildered because of it; I never thought that feeling could be a good thing.

Well, I missed you fellow bloggers. You may have noticed that I haven't posted anything in the last couple of days. I've been having a hard time getting on my blog.

I went to see my doctor on Monday and he asked about my sleeping habits. I hadn't been sleeping. Honestly, I had not slept through the night or went to sleep before 11:30pm in the past six months. My routine at times consisted of staying up until I could no longer fight sleep. Many times that could mean I was up as late as 1 or 2 am (that's not good when you're up at 4:30am each morning).

My doctor asked me how I was sleeping and I immediately informed him that I was getting somewhere in the range of 2-4 hours of sleep per night and my slumber never went uninterrupted. He prescribed me some sleeping pills. I don't think I've rested this well in years...probably my entire life.

Now, back to this issue: When can being stranded be a good thing? I know you might be wondering what good could emerge from being stranded. Doesn't that word have the most negative connotation? What does it mean to be stranded?

The denotation (dictionary definition) of stranded is to bring into or leave in a helpless position: He was stranded in the middle of nowhere.

I stood in the middle of myself yesterday evening. I wondered When will I feel more like myself? When will I be able to feel strong and confident again? How will I be able to spring back into action and put all of these hard thoughts behind me. I continued to ratiocinate: I know I'm a strong woman. The joy of the Lord is my strength and this could have happened to anyone. I got through all of my "Why me?" questioning and proceeded past my "What must people be thinking?" and began to delve into "Lord, what are you saying? What are you trying to show me?"

Tuve muchas preguntas para mi Dios
I had many questions for my God

Tuesday, I began to feel more comfortable with saying "Lord, whatever it is that you want me to extrapolate from this situation, whatever you want me to do, whatever I need to say, I totally acquiesce myself to you." I finally stopped asking why I seem to be destined to go through something everytime my foot touches soil. I began to think about how, out of all of the things I've been through, I have never lost hope. Although I have at times faultered, I have always managed to press through life difficulties and find light in dark places.

By Wednesday, I decided that I wouldn't allow myself to become angry or bitter over anyone who looked down on me, stopped calling/hanging out with me or didn't have any sympathy/empathy for my family's plight....that's when it happened...I couldn't find my keys. LOL! I laugh about it now, but, normally, when I'm going through a difficult time, something as miniscule as misplacing my keys would set off a plethora of different emotions. My questioning would start with "Why am I always going through something? and would end with "Why does it seem like no one loves me? Why does everyone seem to walk away from me?"

Really extreme huh?

My heart, when in turmoil, seems to always turn to that song. "If my family loved me, why did they abandon me?" I guess it may seem neither relevant nor important (besides, that was more than 20 years ago); however, my heart always searched back to why I could be in this predicament...I mean beside the fact that teacher pay is insufficient! I'm trying to refrain from talking about that right now, but trust me, it's comin'!

Honestly, just to tell you this, I'm so concerned about where we will live when we leave IHN because I have no idea how I will be able to afford more than $500 a month rent on my income. Please don't get me started!

Okay, back to what I was saying:

So, it seems fesible to say that, if I was valuable to anyone other than the Lord, maybe I wouldn't be in this situation. Therefore, I can candidly express to you that I feel alone most of the time and lonely nearly all of the time.

In my life, all thrity-eight years of it, I have had few friends and even fewer lovers. In fact,out of all of those that stayed with me any period of time, I have never been presented a ring and asked "Will you marry me?"
For a while I thought it was my fault, but now I realize that I have given so much of myself to others that my singleness is not only temporary, it is needful during this juncture in my life. I don't need to be with anyone until I reach the place God is taking me to....and I am on my way! Hallelujah!

Ok...back to what I was saying...

Wednesday, I couldn't find my keys for 35 minutes and, for the first time in four years, I was late for work. When I arrived to my classroom, my hair was a mess and I felt worn out and ashamed. As those same feelings attempted to invade my peace, I immediately reminded myself that I was not abandoned, God knew my name and that I would be okay.

I taught my class and re-adjusted my hair several times. It just wouldn't do right! There were curly pieces out everywhere and, as I looked at my own reflection in the television (on my TV cart) I was disgusted by what I saw. I looked like an old woman who had given up and I wasn't happy to see my youth leave me because I was running late for work. I knew I would do something about it once my class was over.

As soon as the bell rang, I looked at my "to do" list and said: "I'll get to it as soon as I get my wig straight(or as we used to say in the Chi-My buttas whipped)." It took me almost an hour, but I had to do it. Once I was done, I only completed three things on my ten-part list, but I felt like my hair was beautiful! When I stepped out of my classroom, I saw one of my AP English IV students from 1st period and she sent my self-esteem through the roof:

"YOU-ARE-FLAWLESS!" she stated (almost like a chant)

"Just tryin' to be like you when I grow up" I responded.

That's all it took for me to realize that I had a cheerleading squad cheering me on...my students and even some of my colleagues. I haven't told everyone about my situation because I am careful about Jay's feelings. He goes to school in the same place I teach; the last thing I want to do is embarrass him.

He has never abandoned me (where would he go anyway?)

As the day wound down, I contemplated whether or not it would behoove me to go to church. Should I stick with my routine? or Should I go hear a word from the Lord? I chose the latter, besides you already know I don't value sleep.

I wasn;t feeling church in my flesh. I think my flesh just wanted to lie around and wasn't very excited that I hadn't allowed it to do so. It was okay though because my flesh does not dictate how I worship God. During worship, we sang a song that I'd never heard before...something about being stranded in His presence and it changed the way I will see abandonment for the rest of my life. I beagn to think:

It was okay that they left me. Okay that my mom was never there. It's okay that she doesn't call me unless she wants something and that I can't rely on her to be a mother to me. It's okay that I loved a man or two who used me when it was convienent and released me when he was done. He released me to God. It's okay if sometimes I feel friendless and familyless (okay, is that even a word?).It's okay that, even when I don't want to walk alone and especially when I wish someone would feel me in the spirit and reach out to me rather than wait for me to call them and tell them something is wrong. For as much as I know God has sent me to heal and hear so many broken hearts, mine has remained shattered and damaged for so long...it's been so hard living with the feelings of rejection and abandonment. However,when they left me, when they walked away from me, when they stole from me, when they used me, when they abused me and exploited me, then walked away from me, I ran to Him weary, wounded and sad.

THAT'S WHY I'M SO STRONG! THAT'S WHY I HAVE MADE IT! THAT'S WHY I HAVEN'T LOST MY 'EVA-LUVIN' MIND!

When I was stranded, I was left in God's presence. The great thing is, He promised me that when my mother and my father forsake, leave or abandon me, He will take me up (claim me and own me for His own purpose). Psalm 27:10

I hope you see that for you too!

If you feel abandonded, discouraged or lonely, please send me an e-mail. I have received so many prayer requests and e-mail of encouragement since I started this blog. Please let me do the same for you. If you would like to talk, I will gladly give you my number. No matter what, know that you're not alone or forgotten. If they left, stranded, or abandoned you, know that you're still okay, because God will never leave nor forsake you. GBY!

Soulish Lethargy

I've been fighting it all weekend...tears...and the undeniable urge to lie around and feel sorry for myself.


I mean, I don't really want to do it (that's obvious because, if I wanted to I would have every reason to feel sorry for myself), but I still think about it. Who wouldn't?

I go to work and I feel as though everything I do and everything I am is nothing...for every child I make a difference for, I have two of my own who are missing so much of what I give to other people's children....consideration. And their mom, well, she hasn't received much of that either.

It all started Friday. I'd gone through my normal routine and was ready for the weekend. I knew that this weekend would be special because I had a friend coming to town to see me. I was elated. However, before this great visit would occur, I had to attend a meeting with the Case Manager of the organization that allows my sons and to stay in the efficiency apartment beneath their Durham-based office.

I knew I would have to recount my story just as much as I knew my youngest child would behave like a typical 2-year-old. I was aware that he wouldn't want to sit down and that his attention span would be short. However, what I wasn't ready for was how much of a toll the line of questioning coupled with my son's behavior would have on me.

I'll explain what I mean in a second, but I feel the need to explain something first:

When a person is homeless, that individual is traumatized. I know some of you reading this are saying "Duh, Yolanda, I know that!" Yet, I promise you that many of the same agents within the organizations that have pledged their assistance and support don't seem to realize that. I don't know. I guess so many people try to get over or have gotten over on them that they find themselves hype-vigilant. Whatever it is, it's so difficult on the person who needs the help, especially if they already feel bad that they have to ask for it.

I mentioned in an earlier post that I was asked a question about my 5 and 10 year plans and I was a little offended because all I could think was I'm homeless. Can I get on my feet? Both my children and I went from a three-bedroom house to nowhere and you want to know what I plan to do in the next 5-10 years?! Can I get through today?! I was caught off guard as I worried about whether or not the individual that asked me was judging me because I didn't answer quickly enough. Maybe that was why I was homeless; I didn't have a 5-10 year plan. Well, I knew that wasn't true. I have a plan for the next 20 years; however, my thought at the time was If I don't cure the reason why I'm homeless, I will never live out my future goals because, believe it or not, they don't involve us being homeless.

So, it was Friday and I came into IHN readying myself for the introduction of yet another person who could possibly look at me like: You moron! You're homeless and obviously not able to control your own life and destiny [long sigh] I guess maybe I could try to help you. [She puts down her papers and takes out an ink pen] Now tell me how you screwed up your life!

We were introduced and I gave her a firm handshake and a hearty smile. I smiled as well as I could through my tear-laden visage (to me, lately, my face looks like it is just waiting for a safe moment to explode into that deluge of tears I mentioned in a previous blog). I braced myself for the inevitable. I didn't want to think negatively, yet I knew that it could come, so I waited for it. I figured I wouldn't be as heartbroken if I was ready for it. She cracked a mild grin and began asking questions from her sheet. She began to record my responses on the sheet as I spoke: "So, how did you become homeless?" she asked like a detective questioning a suspect. As I began to explain, she began probing through my story seemingly attempting to poke holes in it.

Does she think I'm lying? I asked myself.
Jeremiah got up from his seat because being a well-behaved two-year-old for thirty seconds was about all he could take. It was time for him to see what was in the office and no one was going to stop him, not even me.

She continued, "So, how did you lose your place? Why did you move? What brings you here?...etc. As I attempted to answer her litany of questions, I was also charged with keeping my two-year-old from demolishing the place. My brain was taxed. My frustration level was building. Suddenly it struck me: I live in this world with my children and sometimes it feels like I really don't have anyone. I mean, honestly, I have a few friends (and when I say few, I’m not over-exaggerating) and the few I have are so busy living their own lives that they can't be a family for me…they can’t be ride-or-die for me. I might call them and, bless their hearts, depending on what their going through, they may not even answer the phone. I didn't even have someone who could sit with me to support me during the interview. For a second I wasn't in the meeting anymore. I was alone just like I had always been and it wasn't a good feeling. I fought the tears.

She asked me what agency referred me. I told her that I called them from a resource list provided an agency that was helping me with my son. When I explained how long I had been working with the agency, she proclaimed that they should've seen our homelessness coming and that the agency had provided bad case management. Although I didn't agree, I felt it wasn't necessary to comment any further since she appeared to be an expert on everything we talked about. When I told her about my youngest son's asthma, she even asserted that it was environmental and that she knew asthma very well and controlled her son's asthma quiet well. Apparently that was another thing I was doing wrong and she needed to guide me on the right path. I just listened because, when someone is helping you, it just seems right to give them all of the control they need.

Finally, she asked me, "What is your savings plan?" As I explained to her how I had made arrangements with all of my creditors and I continued to explain what I knew I was doing to relinquish the debt looming over my head. I felt empowered and excited that I had taken so much initiative and I waited for her to praise me for doing so. Then she looked at me with an incredulous stare and a very pernicious look.
I was dumb…stupefied…I knew it was coming and I’m so glad I prepared myself for it.
She, being the superior, pointed out that I didn't even answer her question. She did so with such an angst and austere tone that I asserted "What do you mean I didn't even answer your question?" Then she reminded me that I had only told her how I planned to pay my bills; I hadn't told her how I could or would save money. Before I knew it, I became visibly angry. My voice grew cold; my blood began to boil. My facial expression changed and I felt what could have been a huge hot-flash, but I knew it was just my blood pressure going through the roof, then, my story spilled out:

[Doing a great job of calming myself enough to talk]

"Ma'm, I know you don't know me, but I can tell you this: I know how to save money. At one point, I had saved nearly nine-thousand dollars (it had come from both a tax refund and a settlement from a car accident). My issue is not that I spend my money unnecessarily; my first problem is that I loved a man. I loved a man that told me, that out of all of the women he knew and had been with, he loved me. He actually loved me! I loved the man and I trusted him when he said, "Baby, we can do this thing together, you're the only one who has faith in me." He used to tell me "I know who loves me, I know who has my back, and I know who's there for me!" And out of all of the love I had for him, I used my money to help pull him out of a hole and I paid his bills to help him. He bought me things. He made me happy. It seemed like he loved me, but when the money was finally gone, he started seeing other people and began to sing a different tune: "I don't want a relationship with you. I don’t want a family with you. You can find somebody else because I don't want to be with you." I continued, "For almost five years I went back and forth with that man and anytime he needed me for anything, I helped him without question until I got tired of being his doormat and figured that there had to be someone somewhere that would love me better. Unfortunately, the man that put me through all of that drama and heartache was the only one who was there for me when I had to give up my place. He was the last person I wanted to live with, but I had no choice." I added “On top of my issues with the man, there is no way my teaching salary would allow me so save any money if I don’t relinquish the debt I have incurred.”
I was drained, exposed and hurt. I said very few words after that because I realized I had exposed myself and the thing that meant the most…the thing that most people in the public are not willing to face is that, no matter what I allowed a man to do to me, my teaching salary is not a livable wage.

Let me tell you guys something that I didn't tell her:

Going back to him (that man) to ask him to help me, hurt more than anything in my recent history because I knew I would suffer if I went back there. I knew that I wouldn't be able to go backward, but I didn’t see another viable solution.
I knew I had given up on my crutch of sleeping with him so that I could feel like I had someone. Over time I decided to wait until I wed to have sex and I knew I couldn't and didn't want a man touching me until that time. He wouldn't have that though. He would grope me when I walked past him and sometimes he would hit me on my butt. When I told him I wasn't interested, he would remind me that he knew what I looked like inside and out. "It doesn't matter!" I would say "I still don't want you touching me." Each time he would do it, I would have a flashback to when I was five and my uncle stuck his tongue out when I kissed him. How he licked my lips and I didn't have a choice. How he would grind up against me when I'd sit on his lap. I could feel his penis against my leg and I wanted to get down, but he wouldn't let me. He’d hold me so tight and laugh sometimes with a loose moan under his breath. I'd flashback to the times when I woke up, at age 15, with a naked man on top of me ripping off my clothes as I tried to sleep through the 3rd or 4th or 5th or 6th rape of the week.

What my former lover never cared to realize or understand was that everything he did to me proved that he didn't love me. He didn't respect me, to him; I was just a piece of worthless meat. My bold proclamations about my body belonging to me only meant something to me because it meant that I chose to stand up for myself rather than let him fondle me because I DIDN'T LIKE IT!

As I sat in the interview hearing and seeing all of these things I just shared with you ...there on the edge of insanity trying to explain that I wanted to get rid of my debt so that I wouldn't become homeless again...explaining that the situation was and is humiliating. She seemed to understand me better and asked me whether or not I knew about an organization that helped people with income that had housing issues. I told her I hadn't. As she clarified the details of the program, I began to see a light at the end of our homeless tunnel. At the end of her explanation, she informed me that she would contact the person who runs the program immediately.
She took out her cell phone and began to dial. Apparently she didn't reach the person because she began leaving, what appeared to be, a detailed message. "...yes, I have a client here who has income and is, in fact, a teacher who has found herself in a bind due to some bad decisions she's made [attempting to clean it up] trusting people, a man, that was not trustworthy...nonetheless, she finds herself in a crisis situation and needs your help. Could you give me a call back? I would love to set up a meeting with the two of you...."

I was mortified. That's when it all started...this soulish lethargy. I thought about just crawling into a ball, hiding under a rock...Is that why it doesn't seem like I have any more friends? Is that why people don't call me anymore? Am I that much of a moron? A feeling began to come over me and I felt sullen and sad. I had been fighting depression since this thing had started. Surviving three years in silence was good for everyone...no one knew, so no one had to help me. No one knew the times I took money off of every bill to buy food and no one knew I couldn’t eat for days during the last week or two of the month because, if I did, the food wouldn’t last. As long as I kept it a secret, people didn’t have to pledge their support to help us because no one knew. No one had to sneer and look down on me either. It was the perfect type of suffering and no one had to be bothered but me. I thought, Why did I tell anyone? Why did I even try to get out? I could’ve just stayed in and died.

Then I thought about why so many people suffer in silence. They don't want to endure the feelings of worthlessness that comes from asking from someone when you know they will make you feel empty, insignificant and valueless.

When I thought about it, she wasn’t the only one. After a moment, the focus came off of me. I redirected my focus to the other families in the program. To the three women in IHN who have to sleep in churches with their children. The women, who come in early in the morning, tend to their children and search for jobs, eat their dinner then go back to the church to sleep. I thought about how my brood and I stayed in one spot and, although it is small, we have all of our things in one place. I thought about how it must feel to hear that same song from someone and not have a job (let alone a career). All at once I was praying for them and felt a stream of gratitude flow through me.

Lord, help them first. Me last.

My mind went back to the day I went upstairs to wash our things and broke down in a river of tears as I took little girl clothes out of the dryer: little panties and socks. A little girl is here...just like my little Miah. How I began to pray for them as I took the clothes of teenage girls out of the washer to put into the dryer, I thought about how their mothers must feel. I thought about their stories. What they must have endured. How they must feel.

Over the weekend, these things have troubled me. I was leaving Saturday and one of the women asked me for a jump. I gladly consented and began the process of jumping her vehicle. As we waited on her very weak battery to charge, I met her son. He's a teenager just like Jay. In fact, he's an upper classmen, extremely handsome, well-groomed and very polite. I wondered, How does he feel? How is their homelessness affecting him? Seeing him made me think about Jay, I wonder how Jay feels.

Throughout the weekend I had bouts with my soulish lethargy. My heart had been bruised by all of the flashbacks and the realization that I could be to blame. Was it all my fault? My friend could tell because from time to time my head would drop. I wanted to cry and at times I did with my curly locks covering my face so that no one else could see my tears. I sobbed heavily each time I went to the bathroom. Oh how I'd sob, but not just for me…for them too. The families that went through what I battled and the mothers who looked over their 30+ years of life and wondered where all of the years went.

"If you don't pick your head up, I'm gonna go home. This is supposed to be a happy time! I'm here. You can't be moping around while I'm here. I came to cheer you up!" I understood where he was coming from and, I've told you so much of what I've been through, yet I guess you'd have to be in my shoes to know how I feel. I mean, I'm homeless and I don't think that means a whole lot to people who don't know what that feels like. It's like wandering around without being able to predict when you'll be. If you're a person who likes stability and predictability, that's a scary thing. Sure, we have a warm place to stay now, but I have clear all of my debt by the end of February. I have to find a place before March 1st and I still don't see my teaching salary covering a place that is decent. Therefore, I realize the mistakes I've made aren’t the only things on my mind and that was a real bummer.
By the time Sunday rolled around, I still didn't feel myself.

I had been fighting that lethargy all weekend. Miah's behavior was horrible and I was at my wits-end. I knew that, if I could just get to the house of God, I would be okay. I wasn't looking for anything more than being able to worship God away from the noise. I just wanted to remind Him that, through all of this I knew He was and is Lord and that, if none of these events ever changed, I would still love, worship and adore Him. I reminded Him that I needed His continued strength to make it through it all.

We were late. The church was packed and we had to sit in the overflow. I knew what would happen: very few of the people in the overflow participate in praise and worship. In the end, being in the overflow is like watching our pastor at a friend's house with a lot of other friends. Most of the people in the overflow don't praise and worship God; in fact, some of them just sit there and talk.

I stood there with my hands raised high, the weight of my world on my shoulders and a heavy heart with unbelievable unbridled appreciation. I began to worship and the tear I had been holding since this entire ordeal began flowed outward. I apologized for any sorrow that leaked out through my tears and worship the God of my salvation as I reminded Him that He was and is an awesome God even if we are never delivered out of this mess.

I felt the heavens open and a breeze blow on me and the anointing of God rest on me. A tremendous peace followed and my life would never be the same. Pastor prophesied that a blessing would come tomorrow (Monday) and I held on to that with every fiber in my being. I received that word because I know that God is with us just as He is with us.

If you need any prayer, please send me a prayer request to yolandawhitted@msn.com. I'm praying both with you and for you. For those of you, who read and follow my blog, thank you for all of your encouraging words and sentiments. I thank God for you and love you for hanging on in there with me during this very difficult time, ILY guys! GBY!

Just A Little More

I think everyone feels like they could use it: a little more patience, a little more money, a little more time, a little more hair, a little more gas, a little more love...the list is endless.


For me, physically, I could use a little more sleep….mentally I could use much more.

I didn't do an entry last night because I was so lethargic from the night before.


Our day went as scheduled:

Wake at 4:45 am


Wake the Jay at 5am


Breakfast is prepared by 5:20am


Dress and ready myself before 5:30am


Wake Miah by 5:30am


Feed him, wash him, dress him...


Transform the front room back into a living room by changing the futon from a bed to a couch


Put away the linen


Tidy the kitchen, bathroom and living room and turn out all of the lights...


We're usually out of the house by 6:15am.


Miah gets to daycare by 6:25am


Jay and I get to my school by 6:31am


I taught and planned until 2:45pm


CFT Meeting for my son from 2:45 until 4:15pm


Meeting with Jay's Art teacher (he didn't come to the meeting) 4:20pm-4:40pm


Pick Miah up from daycare and give him a snack at 4:45pm


Take Jay to the place to pick up his shirt for the game and to warm up his dinner


Jay eats his Turkey casserole and collard greens in the car on the way to his practice before the game


Miah and I go back to the school for an hour and head to church.


Miah gets dinner at church.


Got the church at 7pm, Miah wets his clothes, I change him and take him to his class...he's so excited!


I go to service. I dance, I praise, I listen, I'm blessed.


At 8:51pm I get a phone call. Jay is waiting for me.


I pick him up and by 9:30pm, we're home.


It’s time to get things prepared for the next day

We convert the living room back into a bedroom and I try to unwind…I can't.

After the boys were ready for futon and asleep, I talked on the phone with one of my friends. He encourages me daily; He's such an inspiration. [Ced, thanks for always being there.] We talk about the Word of God and make fun of one another between admonishments. Then he randomly asserts:

"You know this isn't going to last much longer" he says.

"I receive that" I reply.

"One day soon you're gonna be so happy" he continues.

"Landa, (I love it when he calls me that)" he pauses, "I'm your friend to the end. You know that right?"

"Yes" I reply. Then I sigh a gasp of relief because, out of all of the well-wishers and people who say they will always be there for me, Cedric is the one person who calls me daily to check on me. Almost every other hour.

He always has something positive to say, and he can tell when I‘m discouraged and he doesn’t let me off of the phone until he hears me smile. That's the kind of friendship I need right now.

Please don't get me wrong, I know people have their lives and I'm not expecting everyone to start calling me (you saw my schedule); however, during this time, my greatest challenges stem from my attempting to juggling all of the things I "have" to do as well as the emotion struggles that come with being homeless. The weight of my responsibilities is insurmountable and at times I feel crushed as I do my best to keep my head up, it feels good to know that someone takes the time to text, e-mail, blog or call me. Cedric provides me with a normalcy that I can't give myself and that's what makes it so invaluable.
Last night, we started talking about pastor's message concerning hope, faith and love and I began to falling asleep [Sorry Ced]. He graciously gave me an out. "Get some rest lady. I'll call you tomorrow." As we said our goodbyes, I couldn't help but think about how good it feels to know that I’m not going through this alone.

We all have busy lives. I know it. You just saw mine. Sometimes my schedule is so incredibly cumbersome and inundating, as I attempt to allow my sons to have a normal life, that I feel swallowed by it. Therefore, it is refreshing to know that I can at least have an adult conversation. I'm not very hard to please, so most times, that's all I need.

Many of us would like to have a little bit more of something. My desire for "a little bit more" is contingent upon my circumstances. Due to my current situation, many people pledge some sort of support (and I appreciate and need it so much), yet I cannot describe the feelings that reading an e-mail/blog comment, receiving a text message, or getting a phone call evokes. [A special thank you to all of you who contact me whenever you can].That personal contact is so important to me and seeing an adult in person is truly priceless.

How many people walk alone through life's challenges on your job, in your neighborhood or at your church? Could a simple phone call or smile from you make the difference in whether or not they feel fortified? Is there any chance that 10 minutes out of your day could help someone hold their head up a little bit easier. Maybe. Therefore, I admonish you, whether you know someone is going through or not, reach out to a person you haven't talked to in a while (or ever). Attempt to send someone a kind message. It might help them get through the day.

Are you feeling overwhelmed or lonely? Do you feel as though no one cares? Do you miss or long for adult interaction or human contact? Well, I'm here. If you have a prayer request or just want to share, please email me at yolandawhitted@msn.com. Some people have asked me whether or not I'm on other networks; I am. I'm leaving this information just in case you have questions or would like to follow me:

Facebook: Yolanda R. Whitted

Twitter: HomelessTeacher

I love you and pray that your day is brighter after reading this post. GBY!

"A friend is always loyal, and a brother is born to help in time of need." Prov. 17:17

So Grateful!

It's 20 degrees outside (and dropping) and 59 degrees in our little efficiency.


They gave us a nice space heater and it normally keeps this place perfectly warm and cozy; unfortunately, tonight seems to be a little different.

I have lost the feeling in my big toes. I just keep rubbing them hoping the friction will keep them from becoming frost-bitten. The boys went to sleep with long-sleeved shirts on.

What a night!

I find myself feeling like referring people to my blog for information about how we became homeless and what my plans are. I'm growing weary of my story. It gnaws away at me like an annoying flea and drains me like an over-grown tick. I know I will make it. I know I'm victorious, but I don't always feel that way and I know that's okay. I'm human.

I know all of the "victory" scriptures and I am a woman of faith, yet I feel myself dragging. Every now and then I feel myself and then my feeling fades. Just a moment alone is all I need, but that's nearly impossible. During my planning period, I leave the school just to feel the heat from my jeep and I try to recall a time when I was in a different place. Happy memories are sparse. It seems that I have always been going through something. Some of you feel that way too. I want you to know that it's temporary, but it is real!

Enduring Until the Our Change Comes

I know it doesn't seem fair. Some of us have been through so much and it seems that, when it comes to suffering and tribulations, some of us have been through so much more than others. At times it feels endless, like a deep dark chasm, and, if we rely on our flesh to dictate our mood, based on our situations, we would buckle and fall apart. Jesus gave us some hope: "I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world." John 16:33

Although none of us are perfect, when afflictions come, we can always find something good we've done and say "Maybe I'm exempt from struggle because I've done so much good." Some people even believe that, if someone is going through tribulations, they must have done something wrong. "That's right, you reap what you sow." Though the law of reciprocity is real, we have to be careful not to judge others as we take our shortcomings into consideration: "Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you." Matthew 1:1-2

Each day I do all that I can to quiet the excessive noise that accompanies my current trials. I try to find the good and great in everything and everyone as I attempt to eliminate the negative thoughts and words that are either generated in my own mind or spued out by individuals who are more concerned about their own opinions rather than being sensitive to someone who may endure such a debilitating plight.



I try to understand that some people have no idea what it feels to be a homeless single parent (or even homeless for that matter). They may not know what it feels like to struggle to make something of yourself as you fight the enemy within yourself who repeats every pernicious word life had already hurled at you. The things you heard from people you thought should have loved you. So, as I sit here, cold and hopeful, I leave you with all of the inspiration that I can muster up:

If you're going though anything today, or, if you've been enduring a long-term struggle, I encourage you to stand on these biblical truths with me. We are enduring together:

If we endure, not only will we make it, we will come out of it with polished character.

"I have seen something else under the sun: The race is not to the swift or the battle to the strong, nor does food come to the wise or wealth to the brilliant or favor to the learned; but time and chance happen to them all." Ecclesiastes 9:11 (NIV)

"And not only this, but we also exult in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation brings about perseverance; and perseverance, proven character; and proven character, hope; and hope does not disappoint, because the love of God has been poured out within our hearts through the Holy Spirit who was given to us." Romans 5:3-5 (NAS)

We shall live and not die.

"I shall not die, but live, and declare the works of the LORD." Psalms 118:17 (KJV)

We are fearfully and wonderfully made. His works are wonderful and we KNOW THIS!

"I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." Psalms 139:14 (NIV)

God knows how many hairs we have on our heads!

"And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered." 10:30 (NIV)

God cares about what we’re thinking. He knows our thoughts.

"You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar." Psalms 139:4 (NIV)

He knows our names and gave us our purpose.

"Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations.” Jeremiah 1:5 (NIV)

He longs to give us the desires of our hearts.

"Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart" Psalms 37:4 (NIV)

He has plans for us and His thoughts concerning us are good!

"For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

He has promised us abundant life.

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full." John 10:10

Last but NOT least, God has not forgotten us; He knows our names:

He hath given meat [food] unto them that fear him: he will ever be mindful of his covenant.

Psalm 111:5

Surely he [the righteous man that fears the Lord] shall not be moved for ever: the righteous shall be in everlasting remembrance.

Psalm 112:6

But Zion said, The LORD hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me. Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.

Isaiah 49:14-16

Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not therefore: ye are of more value than many sparrows.

Luke 12:6, 7

For the LORD will not cast off his people, neither will he forsake his inheritance.

Psalm 94:14

...I will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.

Joshua 1:5

I have said it once and I will say it until December 31, 2010: "This is our year!"

Like always, if you need me to stand with you in prayer for anything, please feel free to e-mail me at: yolandawhitted@msn.com Don't neglect your place in the Kingdom of God! Go forth, divide and conquer!