Jesus was born homeless in a makeshift shelter
and he died homeless with nowhere to lay his head
except—when he could lift it slightly—
against a wooden beam that replaced a wooden headboard.

A young girl was sitting on the ground a ways away from the streetlight. At first, approaching from the left, he couldn’t tell the gender of the young figure seated on the curb. Her coat, torn on the left shoulder, was too skimpy for the cold. Her nose and the left side of her upper lip were smudged—dirt or chocolate, maybe grease. He couldn’t quite tell. Her head was tilted slightly as if she were looking at something straight ahead on the ground eight feet in front of her.

Her hair was short but shaggy, uneven as if she had cut it herself. He was standing. She was sitting on the curb where earlier his partner had asked her to “Sit! And stay.”—the way she used to say it to her dog when she was filling his bowl. She missed her dog.

She leaned forward slightly, her hands together, fingers locked, as she rested her elbows on her raised knees. The officer asked her age. She said twelve. He asked her name. She said, “Bernie.” He said, “Bernie?” She said, “Bernie.” He asked her last name. She said she accidentally left it on the bus.

The officer looked up from his hand-sized notepad. He said evenly, “You know, young lady—Bernie—that’s probably one of the ways you ended up here: being too smart for your own good, being deceitful, lying.”

She continued to stare at the spot eight feet in front of her on the street. “If you don’t mind, sir. I’d say I’m here because of big people like you lying, being deceitful.”

“Oh?” He listened.

Musingly, she spoke down to the ground with no affect. “When grown-ups say they aren’t going to hurt you, but they do. When you’re seven and your mom leaves you home to watch your little brother and sister and says she’ll be right back. When big people, grown-ups—maybe your uncle Billy who’s not really an uncle or your coach or the neighbor man down the block—tell you not to say anything, not to tell anyone or else. Who’s lying then? Who’s being deceitful? Acting all smart?”

“Did that happen to you?” the officer asked.

“I’m not saying it did or didn’t,” she said, turning her head away and to the right.

“You sure you’re only twelve?”

“Who knows? Maybe I’m lying. Maybe I’m only eleven. Maybe I’m nine and big for my age. Maybe my body’s twelve but my soul is going on seventy.” She slowly rotated her head back to the left and past the spot in front of her. The shadow slid off her face replaced by soft light. Lifting her head slightly, she looked up at the officer with her left eye. He could see her right eye was swollen. He saw then it wasn’t dirt or grease or chocolate under her nose. ~ djm

THE SAD STATS:

• 57% of homeless kids spend at least one day every month without food.
• In the United States, as many as 20,000 kids are forced into prostitution by human trafficking  networks every year.
• According to a study of youth in shelters, nearly 50% reported intense conflict or physical harm by a family member as a major contributing factor to their homelessness.
• More than 25% of former foster children become homeless within two to four years of leaving the system.
• 50% of adolescents aging out of foster care and juvenile justice systems will be homeless within six months because they are unprepared to live independently and have limited education and no social support.
• Almost 40% of the homeless in the United States are under 18.

https://www.covenanthouse.org/homeless-teen-issues/statistics

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