By: Michelle Johnson

When I challenged the Mecklenburg Ministries Youth Council to participate in a cardboard box campout and poverty simulation, I had no clue what I was getting myself into. Eight courageous members of our youth council rallied together at Christ Church off Providence road for a night that forever changed how each of us viewed and understood homelessness.

The evening began with an eye opening, first hand account, of what it is like to be homeless. An incredible woman, named Cora, shared her story of struggling with abusive relationships, raising children, battling drug addiction and ultimately ending up on the streets. Cora spoke of the harsh realities of surviving with no support system for five years. Thankfully, for Cora, organizations like Crisis Assistance and Urban Ministries were able to provide her with the counseling and other resources she needed to pull herself out of homelessness and into shared housing.

But what about the other five to eight thousand homeless people in our city? Are there enough resources for them? And what about the three thousand children in Charlotte Mecklenburg Schools who are homeless, not to mention their younger siblings who aren’t even in school yet? Well, we were about to find out. For the next two hours nearly a hundred area teens assumed the roles and circumstances of real families living in poverty. They dealt with the fear, frustration and seemingly endless trials of struggling to pay bills, find employment, care for children, elderly and disabled family members, while avoiding eviction or incarceration. I sat and watched teens that are on the honor role steeling bus passes from their friends so they could get to the pawn shop to sell a TV in hopes of paying their utilities for the month. By the end of the simulation even they were shocked to find they would do such a thing. They had gained a whole new perspective on the plight of the poverty stricken and the desperation they must feel and the decisions they must make.

Our evening activities closed with small group discussions on all we had experienced so far and left us with questions to ponder as we prepared our cardboard boxes and settled in for the long, cold, November night ahead of us. I laid awake for most of the night, thinking about all I had learned while feeling first hand what it is like to have limited resources to protect me from the 40 degree air and the dampness of the ground below me. I counted down the hours, as they slowly rolled by, in anticipation of day break. I was lucky, I had hope. Sunrise for me meant it was all over, I had survived the cold night, and could go inside for a warm breakfast. But what about those still waiting for sunrise? Whose plight isn’t marked by hours, but rather by days, weeks, months and even years? How can we give them hope to survive the cold night?

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