Deep, infectious belly laughter bounced around the church dining room in a way that was conscious of the volume level as not to wake anyone. We were all playing a game of UNO late into the night. The cards were bent and scuffed and really were two different decks shoved together. Some numbers looked different than others, the font was just a little off. The shade of green varied dramatically from card to card, but together it built one joyous game.
A bunch of young adults sat on metal folding chairs around a tan plastic rectangular table laughing until we had tears in our eyes. It was so simple, so joyful.
But there was so much more to that moment when you zoomed out. The people who surrounded me were spending the night in this dusty Lutheran church because they had no where else to go. Each one of them had a story filled with loss. Each one of them was currently a guest at our local rotating homeless shelter.
This silly game of UNO was a tiny fleck of joy for all of us. They weren’t just homeless people. They were my friends. They each had a name, a face, and a story.
I didn’t just show up and serve dinner for the folks at the shelter. I had the honor of building relationships that I’ll never forget. I had the privilege of holding space for people who don’t have many people listening to them and definitely don’t have enough people fighting for them.
My heart broke the most on one of my last nights. Our regular UNO crew was dispersed for the evening, so it was just me and one other guest at our table. Our conversation started with casual talk of his new job and new hours, and organically moved toward housing and how he ended up sitting with me that night.
His isn’t my story to tell, so I’ll keep the details vague. But since the age of 4, adults that he trusted abandoned and abused him. When he opened himself up to another adult who did love and care for him, she passed away. He had no one fighting for him. Any bit of survival was clawed after on his own. When that’s the only form of love that you know, it’s easy to fall into bad decision making.
Getting into serious trouble with the law is what shook him awake and placed his feet on the ground to begin walking in the right direction, but his life only exists because he chose to fight for it even though all of the people that were supposed to never did.
Now, growing up I was blessed immensely with a few adults that did advocate for me, and taught me how to fight for myself, but I walked away from that conversation with my new friend unable to shake the feeling that at any one moment in my life, our roles could have been reversed. How different would my life have been if I didn’t have adults that cared? How different would his life be if he did have advocates and guidance from someone who loved him well?
He’s very close to housing and training at his new job is going well. We spent a few moments celebrating that together. I even had a chance to look in his eyes and tell him I was proud of him, just in case no one ever had.
Another friend from our table was a high schooler about to be a dad. Another had two young kids he hadn’t seen in a few years. All of them had conflicted relationships with at least one parent.
Those were the stories of my new friends. A simple game of UNO brought together people with complex pasts. We were a back corner table of misfits coming together for a silly break from a really tough world.
Beauty wasn’t glamour or elegance there. Beauty was in our humanness. Beauty was in the sarcastic cuss words when Skips were played. Beauty was in the life that we each got a chance to keep living. Beauty was a tattered card game.
I’ll never forget my precious group of friends who had been wrinkled and tattered by life all finding home and family in a card game, in one another. I’ll never forget the way that space and those people brought me into their family and home. I’ll never forget the feeling of oneness with people so complexly different.
Thank you, UNO friends, for teaching me so much this week. Thank you for sharing your lives with me. Thank you for taking me into your family unit. I love you. I see you working so hard. And I’m proud of you.
If you have a house with heat, go serve people in your community that don’t. It will forever change you for the better.
You are truly and deeply loved.
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