I am a senior woman—a Black woman, single and retired—who found herself alone in a small city in the northwest, far from friends and family. For three weeks, I embraced homelessness as a temporary inconvenience, driven by a calling to serve and mentor elementary school children through an AmeriCorps opportunity with the Napa County school system. My purpose in sharing this story is to show how we care for one another, how we embody the Church of God that Jesus spoke about, and how little we truly understand the reason why we are here. I want to reveal my experience to teach others about a side of humanity that is often overlooked and vulnerable, to highlight our relationship to nature and others, and to celebrate self-care, self-love, and self-sufficiency in solitude. Above all, I want to share the truth I lived in those three weeks—the truth of God’s love.
The town was small, nestled in the northwest, and autumn had painted the landscape in shades of gold and crimson. Each day, temperatures ranged from 45 to 70 degrees, growing colder at night, with fog and rain often settling over the city. I was homeless, sleeping in my vehicle, relying on food pantries, food banks, and a drop-in center for homeless women and children to meet my basic needs. The environment was unfamiliar and sometimes harsh, but it was also a place of quiet beauty and reflection.
Some of my most meaningful moments were spent in nature at Howarth Park, with its beautiful lake and abundant bird wildlife. Hiking the paths, I found wonder in solitude, feeling connected to the world in a way that only quiet reflection can bring. My daily diet was simple: water, coffee, apples, and bananas. The YMCA became a place for community involvement, exercise, and showers—a small sanctuary in an otherwise uncertain routine.
One night, while parked at a church lot, a light shone in my face, and I was asked, “Are you supposed to be here?” I refused to go to a homeless shelter, choosing instead to keep myself safe in my vehicle. Safety, food, and meeting my basic needs were daily challenges, but I learned to rely on myself and to introspect on what skills I had that could assist my situation.
I witnessed moments that revealed the truth about human nature. I saw a woman sitting on the ground in front of a 7-Eleven store with her dog. A man drove up and gave her one small Milk Bone for the dog—just that, and nothing more.
Meanwhile, expensive vehicles: Teslas, Land Rovers, Mercedes, and BMWs raced along the roads, a stark contrast to the struggles of those living on the margins. People seemed to place their value in material things, not in people.
I observed smiling protestors marching with signs that read “No Kings.” Many churches offered weekly hot meals and nightly AA meetings, but I saw members exit and smoke marijuana afterwards while gossiping, ignoring the truth they saw every day.
During those long hours in my vehicle, I discovered creative ways to stay occupied and maintain a sense of connection. My phone and tablet became lifelines to the outside world. I spent time scrolling through YouTube, watching videos, reading emails, and browsing Instagram and Facebook. These digital routines helped me stay informed and entertained, offering a comforting rhythm to my days.
Practical challenges were ever-present, especially finding ways to keep my devices charged. The local library became a daily refuge—not only for its welcoming atmosphere, but also for its charging stations. I often relied on a charger overnight to ensure my phone and tablet were ready for the next day’s needs. These small acts of self-care provided a sense of normalcy and control, even in uncertain circumstances.
Occasionally, I made phone calls to family—not out of desperation, but as a way to share updates and maintain bonds. These conversations were intentional, a reminder that I was never truly alone, even in solitude. Through these routines, I found balance: staying connected to others while also embracing the quiet strength of self-reliance.
I learned that self-reliance is essential, and that introspection can reveal strengths we didn’t know we had. I discovered that most people offer cordial greetings and smiles to make themselves feel better, but few truly care. I trusted my intuition and focused on resilience and healing, often crying and praying, relying on my relationship with God.
Humans, I realized, are just as vulnerable as animals, but we are less self-sufficient and need each other more than we admit. People are not always honest and may seek recognition or power over others, sometimes delighting in the suffering of others as a point of gossip or laughter.
Yet, in all this, I found that God’s love is constant. In solitude, I learned to care for myself, to love myself, and to find sufficiency in my own company. I saw that our relationship to nature and to others is sacred, and that self-care and self-love are vital, especially when the world feels distant.
Ultimately, the reason for being there—the job I had been offered—never materialized. After three weeks, when the call finally came to say my background check had cleared, it was easy for me to decline the position. I knew that I could return home, where I had a warm place, a safe space, and a family that cared for me. This experience taught me that sometimes, the journey itself is the lesson, and that God’s love and grace are present wherever we go.
I encourage you to look for the vulnerable in your community—not just those who are visibly struggling, but those who may be quietly alone. Offer kindness, a listening ear, or a simple smile. Practice self-care and self-love, knowing that you are worthy of compassion. Remember that in solitude, you can find strength, and in caring for others, you reveal the truth of God’s love.
The truth I lived in those three weeks is simple yet profound: God’s love is present in every moment, in every act of care, in every relationship—with others, with nature, and with ourselves. By embracing vulnerability, practicing self-care, and reaching out to those around us, we become the Church that Jesus envisioned—a community built on love, understanding, and grace.