Sheltering Eaves

By Terri Conlin


From the warmth of the car through raindrops splashing on the windshield, Courtney caught sight of her again wandering between stores. Did she have a roof over her head or the shelter of His wing? The sight of her walking in the distance knocked at the door of Courtney’s heart. Then months passed with no sight of her.

Late one night with temperatures near freezing, a bundled Courtney unexpectedly came face to face with her. She appeared in distress. They exchanged names and crossed a threshold.

“Where will you sleep tonight?” slipped out with her next heartbeat.

“I have no place tonight, but tomorrow I have a room across the freeway. A nearby church put me up for the holidays. A woman. . . I think her name was Faith . . .”

Courtney asked a tough question, “Are you clean?”

“Well, I need a bath” she began.

“No . . . are you clean of drugs and alcohol?”

“Oh yes, I don’t even smoke,” she sighed.

Then Courtney said what was in her heart the moment their eyes met, perhaps even before, “Do you want to come to my house for the night?”

“I have to tell you, this makes me nervous,” Courtney confessed.

“Me too,” she said.

“I have kids at home and this will surprise my husband. . . but he’s great. . .”

To calm her heart on the ride home, Courtney chatted easily as with a familiar friend. A window into her life opened a crack. She worked part time, desperate that her employer not know she was homeless, struggling to rebuild her life. She had attended West Linn High School, married young, fled a bad marriage. There were two daughters, one she’d lost touch with, the other in foster care. Beneath the porch light, she remembered growing up in this very neighborhood. In fact, her childhood home once stood on the lot across the street from Courtney’s front door.

She took a long hot bath, shared a meal with Courtney’s family and fell into a seamless sleep beneath sheltering eaves. Courtney fretted, awake most of the night worrying about this lost soul and her own three children sleeping soundly nearby. The next morning over a hot breakfast, Courtney shared her phone number with a request for privacy. Courtney told her, “We will have to trust each other. I want to help you, but don’t depend on me for survival.” Her new friend graciously took what was offered never demanding anything.

Courtney took her to catch the bus for work and redeem her collected pop cans. Courtney prayed with her and rolled out the welcome mat to Bible study, but her new friend worried she was unworthy and unwelcome. As she drove away, Courtney burst into tears, exhausted. She had not taken a deep breath for the last 16 hours. Back home, she noticed her guest’s empty pop can left neatly by the kitchen sink.

Within days, temperatures dropped into the low twenties and winds whistled through the trees. For the first time, Rolling Hills opened as an emergency shelter for the homeless. One of those subfreezing nights, Courtney brought her new friend to what they call “God’s Living Room” for a hot meal and a good night’s sleep. The next morning Courtney’s new friend sat at Bible study listening to her sing a song she had written about God’s mercies when we find ourselves where we never thought we’d be.©