An icy wind is blowing the dusting of snow that fell last night. I was outside earlier, but I didn’t stay long. Now I’m sitting in front of the woodstove, soaking in that radiant heat that warms you to your bones.
I’m always grateful for the warmth. Years of working with homeless people in all seasons doesn’t allow me to forget those who struggle with the cold. When you live on the street, winter is not a time to pursue hopes and dreams. You’re just surviving, searching for a place where you can escape the eyes of authorities and the brutal cold. Most nights you’re successful, but sometimes things don’t work out.
I’ve known several men who succumbed to hypothermia. George was a veteran with an alcohol addiction. He had started collecting Social Security and was on a waiting list for subsidized senior housing. One cold night, he got drunk. Sometime that night he got out of his sleeping bag and fell asleep without getting back in it. He was dead the next morning.
When the cold winds chill to the bone, it’s hard to think about trying to find a job or plan a future beyond the next hour. A hot meal and warm place to go to the bathroom become the order of the day. If you can afford a cup of coffee, you can sit for a while in a warm restaurant. If the library is open, you can find a place to sit and read a book or take a nap while pretending to read a book. I’ve seen some homeless people who mastered pretend reading.
This all came into focus when I went with a youth group to serve people at Franklin Park, just a few blocks from the White House. It was about 20 degrees. The trees bowed to the force of the frigid wind. The park was normally crowded with around 100 people, but not that day. About 20 desperate people braved the weather, hoping for warm clothes or something hot to put into their bellies.
That wasn’t a day for long conversations. While savoring their hot drinks and chili, almost everyone we served thanked us and told us we were the only group to come down that day. I can’t speak for the youth, but knowing we helped when others didn’t made our exposure to the cold worth it.
I was never so happy to climb into my old Chevy pickup. As I sat in the parking space waiting for the heater to do its job, I looked out over the park. The last of the people we served were leaving the park as fast as they could. We weren’t out there for very long, and we couldn’t think about much of anything except getting out of the cold. That trip gave me a clear understanding of why winter is all about survival for people who live on the streets.