I set foot on the pavement in my ripped up, cut off, holey jean shorts, an oversized man’s sweater covering the length of my arms, a mud-covered baseball cap and a beat up pair of tennis shoes. My hair was frayed and tucked into my hat, sticking out in all directions. I took the first step onto the pavement, and I was petrified. I was homeless. Most would classify my upbringing as that of an upper-class status. I grew up an only child most of my life, I was surrounded by adults and cocktail parties, and I had a live-in nanny until I was twelve years old. All of this sounds as if I would have turned out to be quite the spoiled brat, but on the contrary I turned out quite the opposite. I am a devout Christian, committed to serving those in need, and I’ve always been very appreciate of all the blessings the Lord has bestowed in my life, down to every bit of the financial comfort I have experienced.

Being homeless was never something I feared of becoming, but it was a set of shoes I had never walked in before. I was somewhat eager to partake in the assignment, for the chance of such humility was a blessing in my eyes that I could only experience through this role. I figured I would be silent, keep to myself and walk along the streets minding my own business. I saw this co-culture as one that was alone, but never could I have understood the desperation and emptiness of this role until I took a position in it. Never in my life had I been so terrified. Never in my life had I felt so empty. Never in my life had I felt I was without hope for a life.

I walked the Las Vegas Strip in my new role as a homeless woman. I started at the Treasure Island. I walked along the side of the hotel feeling very alone and full of anxiety and fear. The first thing I passed was a bus stop. There was a homeless man asleep, snoring, and sitting upright on the bench wrapped up in all of his belongings. I scurried by him quickly in fear that he would awake and yell out, “Hey you girl! You ain’t homeless! You are a liar! How dare you!” As a matter of fact, I scurried rather quickly past all the people I encountered, filled with trembling fear. I feared the tourists would shun me or yell at me for being in their way. I feared the security guards would grab me and take me to jail. I feared the employees of the casinos on their way to work would yell at me, for whatever reason they felt necessary. I was in complete and utter fear of every person that surrounded me. I felt as if I was worthy of the status of an insect. I understood how they felt: small and insignificant to the world.

When I was driving down to the strip, I spoke to a friend of mine on the phone, describing the task I was about to take on. One of her first questions was, “What if people try and give you money?” This was something I had certainly thought about, especially as I was getting ready for the assignment this morning. I could not seem to get dirty enough! I tucked my hair in my hat so others could not tell I get it done regularly. I did not wear deodorant or make up, yet I still felt like a fraud. The perception I assumed people would have was that I became recently homeless. With that in mind, I thought people might feel as if they could relate to me more so, inevitably feeling inclined to give me some money. I told my friend that if I were to receive any money, I would accept it so as to not break character. When I was done with the assignment, I would stop on my way home and give any money I had collected to a real homeless person. No one gave me a thing. I was not given money, food, or anything at all to help my condition. I did not anticipate this feeling at all, but anytime someone reached for their purse, wallet or what seemed to look as though they were getting money out, I would feel excited. None of them did. In turn, I felt as if they could not understand. I felt that the people around me were ignorant and rude. I could not understand how they would not want to help me. I then began to isolate myself from them, and I looked at the people who surrounded me with anger; yet, I still felt helpless and meager.

My looking-glass self was now funneling my self portrait as unworthy. I felt dispensable. I felt unloved, even by God. I felt exposed, yet minuscule. Many people looked at me, a few gawked and pointed. One group of business associates at the Treasure Island actually hollered out at me. “Hobo!” one of the men yelled out, “Hey homeless girl! Hey bum!” I scurried along even faster bowing my head even closer to my chest. A few people looked me in the eyes, and I wondered if they had ever come close to experiencing what I was at that very moment. All in all, each of the people I interacted with made me feel as if I was lifeless. If I was small enough, I feel they would have stepped on me, ending my life and never stopping to think twice about it.

As I sat down in the driver seat of my car, leaving the realm of my homeless life, I wiped my tears and prayed. I prayed that God would look after me and help me to find strength in my everyday decisions, so that I may never have to come to this road in my actual life. I prayed that God would help the lives of every man and woman who lay hungry, alone and empty on the streets. I prayed that He would give them strength and bless their lives to escape the solitude and find hope. I prayed He would save them. Finally, I prayed for the rest of the world. I prayed that each of us here on earth would take the time to help the homeless. I prayed that God would help us open our eyes and find it in our hearts to give, whatever that may be, to these people in need. I prayed that somehow, by whatever grace possible, God would let the homeless of the world know that they are not alone and that hope is possible.

Reflecting I felt as if my material self was worthless. I feel as though I should donate everything I own, minus the essentials I need to live. Knowing this is unrealistic, I have decided that I will at least become far more active in giving to homeless shelters. I feel as though my social self has been humbled drastically. When in church we always discuss walking into worship on an equal playing field, for in the eyes of God we are all equal as His sons and daughters. I now feel this is necessary in every aspect of life. Whether or not the people around me may know it, I know we are all equal and as deserving of the blessings of life as the next. My spiritual self has been heightened greatly by the experience. I know God loves all His children, and it takes the ones filled with His hope to share it with others who still live in fear.