Do you think you would know a homeless person who wasn’t, if you saw one? Probably not. Not the classy kind of homeless person. Yeah, that would be the middle aged woman (who considers herself to be a lady). She drives over to the beach where there is a State Park and changes into her bathing suit and washes her temple in ivory soap and shampoos her auburn hair, early enough in the morning in hopes that she will avoid all the early birds who arrive at dawn for their morning walk, early fishing excursion, or those who sit in their car and gaze on women taking showers. She changes in the restroom into an outfit that would most likely disguise her from the appearance of homelessness. She appears in a dress, with hair combed, perfumed body, and head held high and with her manner of dress, would go a countenance of joyfulness, that everything in her life is just fine. She exudes the love of Jesus, despite her situation. And as she walks to her car, she tries to not draw any attention to herself. It terrifies her, the thought that someone might know, because the last thing that this homeless person wants you to take from her, is her dignity, because after all, it is about all she has left of herself. She drives away, and feels a sense of accomplishment, because for one more day, no one noticed, the homeless lady who wasn’t.
Heartstrings Two, Copyright © 2008 by Library of Congress
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