Two months ago, I waited three hours outside my ex-fiancé’s house for the police to

arrive. We’d lived together for fourteen years until she decided to evict me. Earlier that morning,

she took the keys from me and demanded that I leave immediately. She said that God told her it

was time for me to go. When I questioned her, she became more reactionary and emotionally

entrenched. I took some clothes and drove to a shelter with minimal fuel in the tank. They told

me there was no room for me at this time and gave me papers with resources for warming

centers. By the time I got turned away from the second shelter, the gas tank was close to empty.

 

When the police arrived, she pretended not to be home and refused to answer her phone

when the policemen called. Earlier that day, while visiting shelters, I spoke with other policemen

who told me she was carrying out an illegitimate eviction and that I should return to the

residence. When it became clear that she would not come to the door, the policeman departed but

not before relaying that, since I’d been living in the house for a number of years and the eviction

was in the preliminary stage, I could enter the home by any means I saw fit.

 

I jumped the backyard fence and tried to open a window housing the air conditioner,

but before I could get started, my ex appeared with a Louisville Slugger and proceeded to push

my hands away with it. I called the police again and after an hour they decided it was best that I

go elsewhere. Since I had no support system or savings, a patrol car dropped me off at a men’s

shelter near the heart of Detroit.

 

My first night was the day after Christmas. Immediately following my entrance, a

feeling, like an immense wave, came over me. I remember dissociating momentarily as I  

interacted with the residents, most of which were men between the ages of forty-five and sixty

years of age.

 

Tony, an army veteran, told me to “stop it with that timid shit,” as we stood in line for

the microwave. After reflecting, my heart soon abandoned timidity and began seeking new

forms of courage and understanding. He was right; I was on my own amid harsher elements. I

soon learned that I stepped foot in a place bearing the attributes of an incinerator.

 

I eventually came to know Carvan, who was a writer of Facebook posts meditating on

God’s nature. He often told me that the Lord had placed an anointing on me and this was only a

temporary stop where I was to bear witness. The first month at the shelter was the hardest in that

I was tested in every area of mental and spiritual fortitude. “Letting go” became my personal

mantra whenever circumstances seemed unbearable.

 

The Bible illustrates that considering God’s every word is not an endeavor steeped in

safety. This kind of life requires the renunciation of all that we secretly desire. When I accepted

that my ex-fiancé did not meet my needs as a partner, a taut weight was lifted from my thoughts.

Weeks before entering the shelter, I watched the film Blue Velvet by David Lynch at my

ex’s house, inside my former man cave. The film unsettled me on a deep level and a similar

feeling pervaded my senses when I moved in the shelter. Similar to Apocalypse Now & Full

Metal Jacket; it’s a meditation on maladaptation and untempered obsession. Fate rendered me

exposed in ways I could not have previously imagined. I’m writing this while sitting on my

shelter cot.

 

I went from having a truck and living in a three-bedroom home, to relocating to an

overcrowded men’s shelter in midtown Detroit. My heart raced against my will for much of my

youth, regardless of the circumstances. I’m learning that I must listen to myself and God. Cycles

of violence and addiction pervade my current residence. Perhaps against my better judgement,

I’ve diffused multiple arguments before fists were thrown. The staff discovers residents smoking

crack in bathrooms on a daily basis and, for more than a week, there has been no working heat in

the building.

 

The majority of residents live with untreated mental illness and practice forms of self-

medication. Some drink alcohol and others carry on conversations with themselves. Many have a

military background, physical disabilities and cognitive impairments.

 

Prayer and meditation now comprise my private routine. Naturally, I cherish much that I

previously overlooked and took for granted. I hope to expand the circumference of my

understanding day by day.

 

Over a decade ago, my mom and I prayed together in her apartment living room. She

would often say that when two or more are gathered, Jesus was in their midst. Divine

supplications transcend human comprehension, but are enacted by a heart surrendering to

mercy. I no longer attempt to avoid the unknown or cope with self-harm and try my best not to

indulge in harmful forms of escape. However, my own humanity has limits that are difficult to

circumvent.

 

My mom and I have never been closer than we presently are, though she, like my dad,

does not know about my current situation. She has stage four throat cancer, but it’s currently in

remission and she’s experiencing a high quality of life. She believes in me more than I could

ever imagine.