Advent Shelter: Devotion #6

 

Out-of-the-Cold Shelter  -- by Carolyn

 

Shelter: a building designed to give protection from bad weather, danger, or attack.

(Cambridge Dictionary)

 

Shelter is never defined as a home, but as a place of protection or place to live.

Is shelter different from having a home, a place that you can decorate and cook what you like. Listen to the music you enjoy. Cry, sing, curse, laugh.

Do you consider your home a shelter?

 

Tents are shelters, though not much of a shelter once it gets cold or rainy or snowy. A bed or cot in a large room is shelter. Cardboard boxes can be shelter - both a bed and a roof.

Shelters are set up during weather crises: hurricanes, flooding, wildfires. A place to stay and ensure you will be warm, dry and safe. And that you will be fed.

 

I have so far not needed to use a shelter, nothing has threatened my home or my safety in it, other than power outages. I wonder, though, when that might no longer be true as our climate becomes increasingly extreme.

Several years ago, I volunteered at a shelter for homeless men and women. I made beds, served food, cleaned up in the morning, helped people find clothing or shoes from donated items. And I listened to stories. So many stories from people of all ages, educational levels, ethnic backgrounds. Some were working, many were unable to. All now without a place to call home, a place to wake up in or go to sleep in that was a permanent address, with a fridge and stove, a bathroom.

 

Everyone of us was once a baby and then a child and a young adult. We all had hopes and dreams. Some of those were realized. But for some of us, something shatters those dreams. An accident, a job loss, a relationship breakup, violence, abuse, illness. Often one difficulty leads to another, like a tsunami, taking away every support and possibility of recovery. And family, for various reasons, cannot provide shelter and support. These are the people I would meet on those winter nights. I would listen to the stories: the reminisces about childhood, the early adventures and achievements. And the challenges, the tragedies, the conflicts, the disappointments. And the small successes and changes. I would hear the deep grief and pain, often covered by humour or bravado, or anger and blame.

At the end of each shift, I would return home to my warm house, maybe make a hot drink, and if I was on the evening shift, I’d soon go to bed. There was never a question of where I was going to sleep or whether I’d be warm or dry.

 

And in the hours I spent with my neighbours, I would know that Divine Love was present, holding us all as we looked into each other’s eyes, seeing and being seen. We were all held, all sheltered. We are all one, through and in God’s love. Amen.