Josh Tilford

Yesterday, I wrote about my experience sleeping on the streets of downtown Dallas, and I focused on the people I came across. There is another side to the story, the one inside of me.

The night before my journey, I slept very little. My mind filled with thoughts of what it would be like to leave my home with no money, no id, no phone, no car, and inadequate clothing for the cold and rainy weather prediction. I woke up Monday morning feeling a bit terrified and a little anxious. “I just got home from another continent, and I’m already leaving again?” was a recurring thought. Deep down though, I was confident that God’s Spirit had prodded this decision and that the Spirit’s comfort would be enough for me.

Fifteen minutes after getting out of bed, my fears unexpectedly subsided and they were replaced with excitement, joy, and complete peace. To my surprise, these emotions never left me the entire 24 hours I was gone.

As I prayed constantly during my walk there and as the darkness settled over the city, God’s peace and security was powerfully evident. Some might say, “You were only gone for 24 hours. Stay longer and see what happens.” Experience has shown me though that prior to settling into a rhythm, the first 24 hours can be really tough.

During every week long solo backpacking trip I can remember, the first 24 hours have been the most challenging. The loneliness settles in, fear of being attacked by someone/something in the middle of nowhere, and the spiritual opposition are all common obstacles. After the first day of every trip, I would settle into a rhythm and find home wherever I was at.

My experience in Dallas is the first time I can remember those front end 24 hours being, well, glorious. For example, my friends know that I love to eat, and get grumpy when I don’t. I thought about that when I left the house and prayed that God would help me to keep a great attitude (for the rest of my life) despite hunger. Boy did my stomach grumble after that marathon and a third distance walk, but my attitude was shockingly chipper and gracious.

I faced so many little challenges Monday and Tuesday – I got sunburned, my feet were in agony, I was sleepy but couldn’t fall asleep, a man threatened to take my life, the police kept harassing me, I was freezing, I was drenched by a surprise attack from the AT&T sprinkler system, thrown out of buildings, mocked, laughed at – and kept smiling? I’m not THAT strong, I’m not THAT kind. It’s God in me.

Growing up, a feeling of loneliness was one thing I struggled with. These past two years I have been learning that the Spirit’s presence and support is enough for me, and it has proven faithful.

And so this adventure was special to me for these reasons. It encouraged me that I have access to wisdom, joy, peace, patience, love, kindness, gentleness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control, encouragement, courage, confidence, and perseverance in any circumstance. It reminded me that I don’t have to try hard to be a good person, or try hard to do amazing things. In fact, I don’t have to will myself to try hard at all.

Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” This is a lesson I will gladly hold onto.

When I was in college, I followed in my brother Brett’s footsteps and spent a lot of time with the homeless men and women in downtown Columbia, South Carolina. Each Friday evening, I would eat a quick dinner and retreat to my dorm room to pray and prepare my heart and mind, then drive downtown to spend the evening.

I would listen to their stories, often muddled by alcohol and drugs, and humbly encourage them. And I would often stay all night, because it was such a privilege to get to know each one of them. By the end of each visit, my hands would smell of that distinct mixture of sweat, urine, alcohol, and who knows what else – the smell I’ve grown to know and love – the smell of a homeless person.

During my trip to Central America a few weeks ago, I got to spend time with the poor and couldn’t get them out of my mind during the flight back to the states. The idea of heading to downtown to spend time with the homeless came into my head and I knew it had to happen asap. So, yesterday morning I rolled out of bed, put on a hoodie, jeans, shoes, grabbed a disposable water bottle, and began the long walk to Dallas.

I’ve never truly realized how fast cars travel. By car, I can get to Dallas in under an hour and all I have to do is apply some pressure to this little contraption we call a pedal. Walking is a different story. The long slow miles took a lot of perseverance, and downtown didn’t appear to be getting any closer those initial 8 hours. My first shock during the journey was that I had decided to do this in order to walk in the shoes of the marginalized, so to speak, and in turn quickly became one of them.

Before I even made it to Dallas, people were avoiding me on the sidewalk in a way I’ve never experienced. I guess my grown in beard, sunburned face, hunched posture from being tired, and simple clothing did their jobs. In the white rock lake area, girls my age and women with children especially made an effort to give me distance as I passed. I couldn’t believe it.

When I finally arrived 33 miles and almost 12 hours later, I was limping severely from my “lack of training”, ha. I kept thinking, “What a humbling experience.”

Within my first hour of being there, I was aggressively pursued by a male prostitute who cornered me in a bathroom and then followed me around the streets, I broke up a domestic violence incident where a man was yanking the hair of a woman and smacking her in the face, and got kicked out of multiple restaurants I was seeking warmth in. The man who was beating up the woman threatened to turn on me, and as I stood my ground, everyone around us just sat where they were and watched. Talk about a different world from Allen, Texas.

I met a lot of people, and got to hear their stories. All of them had common themes of drugs and alcohol revealing the hurt and misguidance in their lives. Around 1am I decided to get some sleep, but the police kept chasing me away from my spots, and towards the end of my feeble attempts, a sprinkler system was my final alarm. I was soaking wet, it was 3am and 40 degrees, every corner and nook was windy, and I was freezing. So I hit up the 7-ELEVEN to get warm.

A minute or so after stepping inside, the attendant said, “Hey you! What are you doing? Buy or get out!” I felt my empty pockets and thought about the power of my debit card back at home. I asked him if I could stay just a minute more to thaw out my hands. He glared at me and yelled, “I don’t care what you want to do, get the F*** out of my store.” A few months ago I was graduating from law school, and the night before I was sleeping in a mansion (relatively speaking). And now? I had joined the ranks of the unwanted, the unlovely. It was bizarre.

It’s a strong feeling being thrown out. Whether you’re thrown out of a building, a relationship, a program.. no matter who you are, it hurts. As the night pushed on and it kept happening to me, to all of us who were out there, I was grateful for the gained perspective.

At 5am, I met a man named Darrel who was waiting for the DART to take him to work. He assumed I was homeless and told me that he too had been homeless earlier in his life. Now, he has a steady job and still helps those who are on the street to get back on their feet. He encouraged me to not lose hope, told me where I could get an id card, about all of the government housing available, and then prayed over me.

I decided to catch the DART home later that morning because Darrel had told me something surprising. I had noticed that there were only maybe 10 of us on the street that night. I walked all around trying to find others but to no avail. Darrel explained that the city had ramped up its outreach to the homeless with job provision and nice free apartments for up to 2 years. He also said that the police have little tolerance for people on the street, because of those opportunities. And so I decided that my being there for a few more nights might be more disruptive than helpful.

So, why did I walk there? Why is it good to join others in their experiences? For me, on this trip, I felt the antagonization and the physical pain in my feet from the long walk and in my stomach from hunger that millions around the world experience everyday. It added a new layer of softness in my heart for the unwanted. And most importantly, it reminded me that our exterior doesn’t define us. Even our actions don’t define us.

All of humanity is lovely and in need of love.