I heard something moving in the room: little things. I wanted so desperately to fall asleep. I was tired, bone tired. I bathed in the sink as best I could and wore a clean gown. Amidst a sea of moving filth, I made our little room as clean as possible for me and my family.

My husband’s even breathing told me he was asleep or nearly asleep. I carefully rolled over to face the vibrating wall, hoping I hadn’t disturbed Jim’s sleep. “It’s alright, you’re safe; go to sleep,” I told myself.  The silence was punctured by the sounds of laughter somewhere in the dark, four floors down, as if they had heard my thoughts.

Was it my imagination, or was someone in the hallway trying our doorknob? First right, then left? Yes! The sound seemed so loud in our little room. Will one of the children wake up and cry? Will they leave when they see it’s locked, or have they decided to kick the door in? I listened carefully for a sound that would indicate their intent. Should I wake Jim? What could he do against an armed intruder?

The walls reverberated louder for a moment with music from some underground source. “Jim, are you asleep?” My heart stood still for a moment. It was quiet again. What if the would-be intruder were still outside the door, listening, now knowing we were aware of his presence? “I’m awake,” my husband said. “I heard it, too. I think they’re gone now.”

“The people in this hotel are used to wandering the building, looking for a place to sleep or something easy to steal for drugs. Our door is locked. We’re alright.” His words rang true. I no longer sensed a stranger in the hallway. It was quiet. As suddenly as the fear had come, it left. Braver now from the companionship, I rose from the bed and stepped carefully over the children who were lying on the floor- sleeping. “Doesn’t a situation seem worse when you feel alone,” I thought. Arms and legs were everywhere, here a head, there a face. I stepped carefully.

The bathroom light was on, and I could make out two black spots moving on the boys’ blanket with the door ajar. Without thinking, I swept the cockroaches off my babies with my hand. “Nasty, filthy place”, I hissed under my breath as I stumbled into the bathroom to wash my hands. There isn’t enough soap in the world to clean this hotel or even this room. Yet here we are, making a home in it.

There must be a higher purpose, a deeper meaning, for us to be here. Why would we leave a safe, clean home for this? Why would we leave friendships, schools, and our church? What possible purpose could we serve by placing ourselves in such great discomfort, even danger? And what a strange world this was: a continuous circus of the deranged, alongside wealthy business gurus, hordes of teenage runaways carrying guitars and bedrolls like gypsies, eccentric old ladies on the busses beside skinheads with hateful epitaphs on their t-shirts and snarls on their faces?

I looked long and hard at my face in the mirror. The would-be intruders had frightened me. The roaches made me mad. The smells of the streets and doorways made me sick. The people’s nakedness had embarrassed me. The city’s tolerance had dumbfounded me. The day’s horror gripped my heart briefly as my hands gripped the edge of the sink. “God is not here, or he would do something.” My eyes were wide with fear. “What about my children? How can I protect them? What have I done?” Here was a whole city out of control.

I had seen pictures of San Francisco before. The world-class city on the bay looked so attractive. What was not to love?  Tourists from all over the world arrive every day.  It was as though dark glass hid the ugliness from view. They could come here and hit the tourist circuit, carefully orchestrated for them. At the end of their trip, they would leave with lovely photos of Lombard Street, the science museum, Pier 37, Mexican Indian minstrels, Chinatown, and trolley cars.

How skewed, how unfair it is for those trapped here in the unlovely places. Where are the pictures of the children eating out of garbage cans, beds made from sleeping bags amidst urine and feces-stained doorways, or begging on street corners and selling sexual favors?

Deep inside, I felt the stirrings of righteous anger rising against the oppression aimed at me and the poor souls wandering these streets. I met other people here trying to do something for the poor. God is here, I decided. I am here. “If I have to live here,” I shouted in my mind,” I will live here. I will raise my babies here and shine here: thrive here.” God sees all of this and has not moved his hand against it. Then, he must mean for it to stay and thrive, the light alongside the darkness. Then fine! He sees me and mine.

Jim was right, as usual. These people are just looking for a place to lie down and for a way to survive. We are alright. I wrinkled my nose at myself in the mirror and returned to my bed. The children had all rearranged their arms and legs in their sleep and were touching one another. A head touched a shoulder here; a foot touched a leg over there. They were still and peaceful:  no bugs on their blankets. “God, will you keep them clean and safe the rest of the night? Thanks.”

I crawled into my spot beside my husband. The walls still vibrated – I thought I heard someone on the fire escape and a window rattled. Too bad – I was drifting into a deep sleep. I reasoned that if someone had bad intentions toward us, I could face it better after a couple of hours of sleep. Besides, we were all together, and the world’s wisest man, our fearless leader, was sleeping, too.