Rescue Mission Rules
Last night, for the first time, I overheard instructions being given to the crowd of people who spent the night at a rescue mission in Wichita. The mandatory attendance at a service conducted by our church had just ended, and the men were poised for dismissal to file out for the evening meal. The man who spoke moved forward and back in the center aisle, microphone in hand. He spoke in a low, even voice. The crowd was very quiet. This guy had all the trump cards and everyone knew it. It was a chilly night outside.
1. Don't stuff food into your backpacks or your pockets. It'll get you put out.
2. Take a shower every day.
3. Leave the premises to wait for a bus. No loitering on the property.
4. Don't use electronic devices during the night. Others nearby need their sleep. Some of these guys have to get up early to go to work.
5. Don't reach across the counters. (?)
6. Be nice to your brother. He's just like you--trying to get through a hard time. When this season is over, you'll realize that the reason it's especially hard right now is because a lot of you are working through memories of what happened in the past at this time of year.
He also said something about the year's supply of hygiene packets having been used up in six months, about the TV time allowed--not in the daytime except for Sunday football, wanting to talk to the guy whose cell phone went off during the service, who was in trouble, as was someone else whose offense I can't recall (You know who you are, the speaker said.)
As we left the chapel, the men began to stack the chairs at the back, and a heavily laden cart appeared, with mats and blankets and pillows threatening to spill out. The chapel was about to become a dormitory. The building used to be a nursing home, so some individual rooms are available, but not nearly enough for everyone, apparently. I have seen mats on the floor in the hallways at other times.
This crowd of men became something more than a nameless mass of people when one nice-looking muscular young man stepped out and introduced himself as being from Partridge. When he said his name, I knew instantly that he was the son of my high school classmate. His grandparents are my neighbors. He was friendly and open and told us he works at the mission. "It doesn't pay much," he added ruefully.
I think he's the guy, among many others, that has suffered after-effects from his time serving in the military during Desert Storm. (Very recently the US government has begun to take an additional degree of responsibility for these cases, acknowledging that Gulf War Illness was likely caused largely by two chemicals the US administered--one given to protect against nerve gas, and the other a pesticide to control insects where soldiers lived. Other chemicals may also have caused problems.) His dad told my dad what his son was experiencing after his discharge. Some time I'd like to hear more of his story. I certainly hope he finds the help he's entitled to. For now, I'm glad to know he's in a safe place and finding a way to be productive.
1. Don't stuff food into your backpacks or your pockets. It'll get you put out.
2. Take a shower every day.
3. Leave the premises to wait for a bus. No loitering on the property.
4. Don't use electronic devices during the night. Others nearby need their sleep. Some of these guys have to get up early to go to work.
5. Don't reach across the counters. (?)
6. Be nice to your brother. He's just like you--trying to get through a hard time. When this season is over, you'll realize that the reason it's especially hard right now is because a lot of you are working through memories of what happened in the past at this time of year.
He also said something about the year's supply of hygiene packets having been used up in six months, about the TV time allowed--not in the daytime except for Sunday football, wanting to talk to the guy whose cell phone went off during the service, who was in trouble, as was someone else whose offense I can't recall (You know who you are, the speaker said.)
As we left the chapel, the men began to stack the chairs at the back, and a heavily laden cart appeared, with mats and blankets and pillows threatening to spill out. The chapel was about to become a dormitory. The building used to be a nursing home, so some individual rooms are available, but not nearly enough for everyone, apparently. I have seen mats on the floor in the hallways at other times.
This crowd of men became something more than a nameless mass of people when one nice-looking muscular young man stepped out and introduced himself as being from Partridge. When he said his name, I knew instantly that he was the son of my high school classmate. His grandparents are my neighbors. He was friendly and open and told us he works at the mission. "It doesn't pay much," he added ruefully.
I think he's the guy, among many others, that has suffered after-effects from his time serving in the military during Desert Storm. (Very recently the US government has begun to take an additional degree of responsibility for these cases, acknowledging that Gulf War Illness was likely caused largely by two chemicals the US administered--one given to protect against nerve gas, and the other a pesticide to control insects where soldiers lived. Other chemicals may also have caused problems.) His dad told my dad what his son was experiencing after his discharge. Some time I'd like to hear more of his story. I certainly hope he finds the help he's entitled to. For now, I'm glad to know he's in a safe place and finding a way to be productive.
posted by Mrs. I at
6:35 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home