When I was on the streets, not so long ago, I was broke, and no one in their right mind would hire a homeless man. I filled out applications by the dozens per day. Every one of that was reviewed on the spot by a decision maker played out in the same way. I watched my prospects vanish when they read the third line of the application.
Date: 6/23/15
Name: Michael D. Unemployed
Address: Homeless
That third line answer meant they would never make it to the fourth line. Their expression would sour and turned their flesh to stone. There was no coming back from there, because there was no there there.
It didn't matter if it was the least demanding job requiring no qaulifications, I was under qualified by line three. Being homeless was a counter qualification, a negative skill set, the kiss of death. I could have been Henry Ford, the next Rockefeller, or Jeff Bezos, but my homelessness made me persona non grata. Interview interruptus.
I could have stopped right there. Got stuck right there. Rolled my sleeves down and put my hand out as so many of us do. The world isn't fair, so we'll just wait for someone to make it so. It's easy or at least less humiliating in the short run. The very short run. Then, ten years get behind you and you look back and realize it's been a decade of your disgrace. Your life was traded for an existence no one would choose, but you accepted by default. It's yours. Your life. Your fault. Others may have had their bit parts, but you're you full time.
I won't claim that I had some special quality or higher moral standard that differentiates you and I because that would be a lie. In a few words you'll see how preposterous such a claim would be. What I had was a crazy idea. It was crazy idea that started with a petty crime.
How many really bad stories start out with that common miscalculation? They usually end with someone dead on the floor and the perpetrator trying to explain the corpse away with intentions.
By the Grace of a Loving and Merciful God, and with me working against Him to my utmost, I went into a local drug store and shoplifted a pack of post-it notes. Then, I compounded my offense by nabbing a pen from a bank drive-thru. I wrote, "For odd jobs call Mike and put my Obama phone number at the bottom of the Post-it note. Repeating that process fifty-nine more times. I went out and affixed those sixty Post-it notes to an equal number of doors. That evening I got three calls. One was to cut a man's lawn for twenty-five dollars. Two days later I was helping to remodel his house.
When he paid me for cutting the lawn, I walked back into that drug store, slapped a five dollar bill on the counter in front of the clerk, said, "That belongs to you", and then exited quickly. He probably thought I was nuts.
My point is if no one will give you a job, you can make one. The world is full of people and people have needs. If you can fill one or more of those needs, then you can make a job.
You have a choice.
