Diary of a Homeless Man

Well it is the first night in the bedsit. It is bigger and cleaner than I expected, but no matter how much air freshener they spray it cannot mask the smell of stale cigarette smoke that lingers like the pain of a bad break up.

After some creative packing we have managed to get our belongings arranged in a manner that will allow us to move around without stubbing our toes. That said, it would be a brave man or woman to walk around this place barefoot. No matter how pleasantly surprised I am by this place it is still a dive and I have no idea what happened in this room before we moved in. But judging by the drug dealers dealing without shame or fear right outside the door, and the young man high on the sofa in the foyer, I would understandably prefer to err on the side of caution.

There is no source of entertainment in the room, and seeing as the wife is still recovering from giving birth, there truly is no entertainment in this room! I guess I will ask my mom to drop off my TV and Playstation so we can watch some DVD's.

I have been debating with both the wife and myself whether its safe to open the windows and let some fresh air in in an attempt to shift the smell of tobacco that clings to everything in the room. Our final conclusion is that we are more likely to die from the overpowering smell of cigarettes than somebody climbing through the window and murdering us in our sleep for our possessions. Imagine that: if we don't open the window we will possibly become the first people in Britain to die from fourth hand smoke; and if we do open it and someone kills us for our possessions, well we actually found someone worse off than us. Damned if we do... Damned if we don't.

Part of me wonders why I am not more angry at Newbold or even the Seventh-day Adventist Church for placing me and my family in this position. I have been telling myself it is due to the fact we have a written apology from those heartless people that willingly and actively made me, my wife and my newborn baby homeless, but as I lie here in this squalor, displaced, poor, crowded and without a clue as to what tomorrow holds, I realize that I am strangely calm on the inside. I am at peace with myself, my God and my family despite the storm around me. Perhaps this is the peace that the bible talks of; a peace that will pass all understanding. Perhaps this is what it means to smile at the storm when Jesus is in the vessel. All I know is that more and more as every day goes by I become more and more aware that I am poor, but despite my poverty I am truly blessed beyond measure.

God has promised to provide my needs and I know he will.