Boylston Street Letter #9

One in an occasional series of reflections on homelessness and my duties as a pastoral intern at St. Francis House, a daytime shelter on 39 Boylston St. in Boston (http://www.stfrancishouse.org). Apologies for the long-delayed backtracking.

The week of March 19-23, 2007

I have little to report, but much to ask. Please keep Mallory in your prayers. Her life is in danger, so soon after her day of glory.

She graduated from our Moving Ahead Program on March 16, certainly one of the proudest, most hopeful moments in her life. I could not be present to cheer for her because I was demonstrating in Washington, DC. If only I could have been there and here in Boston. I thought of her, and I thought about how good it would be to resume our Friday afternoon tutorials, moving from mathematics to reading comprehension and writing skills. She could continue striving for her GED and continue rebuilding her life. Our routine, one of many healthy routines she had adopted, would go on as before.

But life is not working out that way, because Mallory has become homeless. Not figuratively in the way I have described homelessness before, but literally. Recently she was booted from the recovery residence she was living in because she allegedly failed a urine test three times. (Mallory vigorously denies she could have failed the tests and has claimed it was discrimination because she is a transgender person.) She is practically penniless, and despite her job skills training through our program she is having difficulty finding employment. Finding work and low-income shelter is complicated because of her CORI status and the short length of time she has maintained sobriety.

Speaking to me and to the MAP admissions director, she confessed that if she does not succeed in finding a place to live and work to do in Boston, she will have no choice but to return to Springfield, where, she said, she would very likely meet her demise among bad company.

As dire a scenario this is, I thought to myself, our shelter’s life skills program really works, because there’s no way Mallory would have realized before that her way of life in Springfield was leading her to an untimely death. She has discovered a community in Boston that is nurturing her into new being, and she knows she can rely on a network of support broad enough to meet all her needs and deep enough to sustain her through many crises. In her mind, to return to Springfield is become entangled in a web of disease and dysfunction, to places that deform the better habits of the mind and heart. Mallory knows where temptation lies; she believes she has been delivered from a host of evils, and she does not want to be rendered into their clutches again.

But time and circumstances are conspiring against her wish to stay in Boston. She is shuttling around the city meeting with housing, employment, and CORI counselors and other social services specialists to work an eleventh-hour miracle. Understandably, she has no time now to continue tutorials with me. She regrets it, but she said her life is really in a mess.

I told her that I cannot help her much now, but I will do the best for her I can—I will pray. You can do that, too, so pray with me for Mallory.