It was the end of December when I moved into Sunny. The chill in the air had already come; winter was here. Driving around the first few nights to find safe places to park was a stressful task. I was so afraid of someone breaking in while I was sleeping. I still worked at the Village Inn, but I was looking for another job that paid better. I knew if potential employers found out I was living in my car, they wouldn’t hire me, so I conveniently forgot to mention that part. I applied at the Casa Monica Hotel in downtown St. Augustine as a valet attendant. To my surprise, they hired me a day later.
I was over the moon! I bet people made so much money at that place. It was all so fancy—even the bathrooms. It took me only a few days to figure out how to get dressed, washed up, and prepared for a work shift in two feet of space. The key is organization. You’ve got to be completely organized in a small space to maximize efficiency. Everything has a home. Everything belongs in its home when not in use. Toiletries in this bag, clean clothes in another, dirty clothes in the trunk, and baby wipes on deck 24/7. Organization!
Before my valet shift, I’d sneak into the hotel’s bathrooms and wash up with their fancy hand towels, making sure no one saw me. Showers, however, were more complicated. I didn’t really think about where I was going to shower every day until one day, I realized that showers are only available to those with a home—or enough money for a hotel room. Then, during my second week of work at Casa Monica, a lightbulb went off. There were showers at the beach!
My plan was to get up at sunrise to paddle out on my surfboard at Vilano Beach. I had grown up surfing on Vilano, so I knew its quick sets and crushing shore breaks. There was nothing more beautiful than a Vilano sunrise. The glorious sun peeked its rays over the horizon while my hands and feet dangled in the ocean water. The water is always picture-perfect in the early morning. Like plate glass.
So that morning, I paddled out and forgot all my woes. Beach showers had recently been installed at the access point for all the beachgoers. The only other people out that early were surfers or older women on morning walks. I saw the new beautiful outdoor showers as I came to shore, and I took the opportunity for a shower in my salty bathing suit.
Hallelujah!
A clean shower! And thus I began my daily wash at the beach access. I was washing clothes and drying them at friends’ houses when I could and doing my best to keep clean for my work shifts. Casa Monica was so luxurious that I couldn’t believe I was working for them. It was even more unbelievable that I was a valet attendant who had just recently gotten her license. Driving fancy cars for fancy people was a delight. While parking cars, I’d dream that the vehicle was mine and I was headed for easy living and elaborate board meetings in extravagant hotels.
When I wasn’t at my valet job, I was working late-night shifts at the Village Inn that lasted from six in the evening until four in the morning—what we called “the drunk shift.” All the people who’d boozed throughout the night came to us for our trademark pie and, of course, our exceptional service. I made great money from midnight to 4 a.m. Drunk people love pie. And they always loved my southern hospitality.
Getting off work so late in the night, or so early in the morning, was difficult for me. I walked to Sunny and drove far away to one of my secluded spots to change my clothes in the front seat. I washed my body with a baby wipe and tried to sleep. During the winter, it got pretty cold in the car. I bundled up with all the sweaters and socks I had. Music was a huge part of my life, so my CD player became my dearest possession. That and my Bible.
The Bible was a gift from my dearest friend, Jay, who became like my brother. He’d given it to me, with my name inscribed on it, during my senior year of high school. I read it every night. The Bible comforted me and helped me feel less scared.
In my senior year, I’d become very involved in reading the Word of God, and my relationship with Jesus Christ grew into a daily walk with him. When I became homeless, all I did was pray and shout out promised Scripture back to God.
I am your daughter, am I not? You said your children don’t beg for bread, Lord!
This doesn’t look like the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living to me, God!
You love me? This is love? All I’ve ever done is the right thing, and this is my reward? I thought you had great plans for me. Is it to be alone in a world that nobody wanted me in to begin with? GOD? Are you there?
I had words with the Maker of heaven and earth. I knew his Word. I knew him! How could this be, then? Me living out of a car? I barely had enough money to eat after paying my car payment and insurance. How could my Father in heaven allow me to suffer like this?
It would take more than a decade to answer that very honest question.
After surviving the winter and spring living out of Sunny, summer revealed the beauty of high humidity inside a car without AC. As weeks became months, I found it increasingly hard to maintain normalcy. Staying clean became more trying, washing clothes more difficult, sleeping more disturbed. Work shifts became exhausting. Trying to save money to get a place to live became a crushing weight I felt I would never manage. Summer was a harsh drought on my weary soul. Optimism turned into angry disappointment. Talking with the Lord was more of a begging whimper to help me get out of this mess. My soul was crushed. I didn’t understand how this could have happened to me and why God was allowing it.
One afternoon, I was driving and saw Christian walking with a friend to the Jiffy Food Store. I hadn’t seen him in years! I was immediately overcome with joy and sadness. I missed him and loved him so much, but I knew he was still under Mother’s influence. I pulled over and called out his name. We hugged and talked for a few minutes. He commented that Sunny looked like a small yellow school bus. It was an emotional time for both of us.
A few nights later, when it was hotter than hot, I parked Sunny along the beach and walked over to a fancy beach cabana that the hotels set out for their guests. Christian happened to be walking by, noticed my car, and followed my footprints in the sand to find me lying in the cabana.
“Tina!” he said with joy. His eyes were sweet, and he smiled. His tone was that of tender kindness.
“Christian, what are you doing out here?” My face betrayed my embarrassment. My voice cracked with shame.
Without another word, he lay in the cabana next to me. His presence was enough. He blessed my heart to the fullest. No words needed to be spoken. Together, we looked up into the glorious galaxy of stars above. We watched the crashing waves lit up by the full moon, and we lay under the canopy of starlight and drifted off to sleep with the sound of the roaring ocean and the cool breeze.
Sunrise crept out from behind the waters and woke us up. The heat was already sweltering, so we went for a dip in the ocean. After we swam for a good bit, I asked Christian if he was hungry. Knowing neither of us had money and were hungry, I suggested we walk into the hotel like we were guests for the free breakfast. I mean, we looked like tourists in our bathing suits coming in from the cabana hut!
We both were nervous to walk in, but we were more hungry than scared. I went straight to the continental breakfast and served myself. Then I helped my little brother. He wanted to rush out, but I told him, “No! Then they’ll know we aren’t real guests. We have to sit at the table, and no one will say anything to us, I promise.”
No one said one word to us. I thought for sure after second and then third helpings they would, but not one peep!
Summer was a different kind of fight for me—not only physically, but mentally and spiritually. Several nights, in the wearisome summer heat, I was awakened by dreams—dreams of great things. Great things that I was doing, such as standing on stage in front of thousands dressed like a first lady. I was speaking to encourage their hearts. I had dreams of writing a book—a book that would help millions reach for joyous hope in dark nights of grief. I dreamed of traveling the globe as an ambassador for human rights, creating laws and nonprofits to help others flourish after experiencing tremendous suffering. I had dreams of what seemed to be my life ten, twenty, thirty years down the road. They were intense, vivid, colorful, detailed dreams of a glorious life. After waking up from these beautiful dreams, I was enraged. It felt like God was giving me these dreams, which was confusing and downright annoying.
Are you kidding me, Lord? These dreams are ridiculous. They’re so far from where I am! You realize I’m living in my car, right? There is no way that kind of life could be mine. Stop giving me these dreams!
Night after night, I had dreams of a new life. In my dreams, I lived sweetly under the sun. I enjoyed a meal at the table with my entire family. I smiled at the world with great expectation. And morning after morning, I woke up, wept, and begged the God of the universe to take these nonsensical dreams away from me.
Eventually, I gave up asking God to take them away and decided to just accept them. Soon after, they took hold of my heart. God’s dreams gave me permission to start dreaming on my own. That’s when I started to love all the dreams I had. I loved the dreams of my future husband. Of my children. And of the nonprofit I would start for abused girls and boys. I became a dreamer. It was a lovely escape from the reality I was currently living. I wrote down all my dreams and anchored them to correlating Scripture. They were like little treasure chests filled with promises that would one day be mine. Working two jobs, reading my Bible, and dreaming my dreams became my life as I lived out of Sunny.
One day while I was working at Village Inn, Danny Swanson’s parents came in with his brothers. Danny wasn’t with them, but seeing his family warmed my heart. I was flooded with memories of all those lunches Danny and I had shared when we were in grade school. I had reconnected with him briefly in high school, but when I moved to the Calhouns’ house, we didn’t see each other at all. Now that I had my own car and a brand-new Nextel cell phone, I could call him and see him! With that thought in mind, I asked Mr. Swanson for Danny’s number just as they were leaving.
As soon as I got out of work, I went through my routine of changing in the front seat and driving to a secluded place before I called him. I was excited as I parked at Vilano Beach and dialed his number. He answered, and we quickly decided on a place and time to catch up. I told him I’d had some bumps in the road and was staying on Vilano, just a few miles from where he still lived. An hour later, he met me at the beach. I didn’t want him to know I was homeless, and I had never been so thankful for my tinted windows. I hopped out of Sunny and ran to his jacked-up, bright blue Dodge Ram truck. We drove to the edge of the water and talked for hours as we stared out at the ocean waves.
“Danny, I’m so glad to see you! Tell me everything I’ve missed. Girlfriend? Or should I say, girlfriends? How are your parents? You know I saw them today. Your little brothers too. Y’all look just the same. Not one of you has changed.”
I was overjoyed as I caught up with my childhood friend. I whispered a thank-you to the Lord as we talked. Danny was just as nice and easygoing as ever. All was the same between us, just as it had been when we were growing up. He told me all about his girlfriend and the fishing charters he did with his dad’s business.
It wasn’t long until Danny figured out that I was living in my car and started bringing me food. Well, technically, it was Mrs. Swanson who was sending the meals, but Danny delivered them. Soon, I started parking outside their house, just as I did on occasion at the Jabours’ house (Jay’s parents) or at the house of my other friend from Smoothie King, Li-Sha. Both Jay and Li-Sha helped me out as much as they could when I was homeless.
My closest friends and their families were kind and gracious to me, never once making me feel unwanted or shameful. Jay called me every day to pray with me. Always encouraging me in the Lord, Jay was just like Danny and Li-Sha in that they all believed I had something worth fighting for—something grand in my future. Danny’s and Jay’s parents treated me like one of their own and invited me to stay over and enjoy meals with them whenever I wanted. Although I rarely slept over at my friends’ houses or ate with them, on the occasions when I allowed myself to say yes, I had such a nice time. Whether it was Li-Sha and me feeding all her lizards and giant pet tortoises or Jay and me sitting in his truck eating ice cream and talking about Jesus, I never wanted for anything when I spent time with my friends.
Months went by. I saved every penny I could to put a deposit on an apartment. By this time, I had left Village Inn and started at Sangrias as a server and bartender. I worked day and night—as much as they’d let me. Work a double shift, shower at the beach, sleep in car, repeat. Finally, after months of squeaking by, I had enough money. The day I got the keys to my first apartment, I was beside myself. After almost a year of living in my car, I didn’t know if I was dreaming or simply delusional.
Was this really happening?
The woman who rented me my two-bedroom, two-bath Vilano Beach condo was from a church I had recently started attending. The rent was $950, so the deposit was twice that amount. Even though I had struggled, my time in Sunny created in me a depth and perseverance I wouldn’t otherwise have had.
On the day I was to move in, I met my new landlord at the condo and wept tears of joy as she handed me the keys. Unaware of my current plight, she looked at me, confused. I never told her I was living in my car, because I was afraid she would change her mind and refuse to rent to me.
So there I was—keys to my very first apartment in hand!
Lord, we did it! We really did it!
Crying with relief, I put the key in the lock and opened the door. I kicked off my flip-flops as I stared into a bare-bones but beautiful space. I took one deep breath. Then I took off like a jet, running through the entire apartment. I was laughing and crying as I ran my hands over every wall and rubbed my feet into the new carpet.
Bliss. Absolute bliss.
I ran up the stairs to my loft bedroom and saw the most glorious thing of all—a shower. And not just any shower, my shower! Mine, all mine. I could sit in it all day long if I wanted to! I ripped open the shower curtain and discovered the most beautiful skylight overhead. The sun and clouds were right in the shower with me. I cried even harder after this discovery. I couldn’t believe it. After months of dirt under my nails, nappy hair, and grimy feet. After salty and sandy everything from showering at the beach. After just getting fired from Village Inn for dirty uniforms. After all that, I finally had my very own shower. Talk about a dream come true!
Oh, the joy of being clean! I never knew the sorrow of dirt until it ravaged my femininity and robbed me of my dignity. Now clean water was all mine for the taking, and I didn’t have to endure the shame of asking a friend again. I didn’t have to pretend to go surfing so I could use the shower at the beach. No one would wonder what I was doing.
No more paranoia.
No more embarrassment.
I ran to my car and brought everything I had inside. I placed all my possessions smack in the middle of the living room. It was amazing. All 900 square feet of it. After unpacking, I was off to bathe beneath the skylight with the beautiful sun and clouds overhead. I brought all my girly things to my bathroom and turned the shower faucet to warm.
So bright, so beautiful, was that bathroom!
With tears in my eyes and a grin on my face, I put out my hand to feel the water. As it washed through my fingers, I felt instant peace. The moment had come. Satisfied with the temperature, I took off all my clothes as quickly as I could. With one foot poised over the side of the bathtub, about to feel hot, clean water for the first time in months, I thanked the Lord.
Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for this beautiful shower. I don’t know of anyone else who’s gone from living in a two-door car to living in a 900-square-foot Vilano Beach condo. So, again, Lord, thank you!
When I stepped beneath the flow of running water, a wave of contentment came over me. That water felt so good, so warm, so clean. I stood in that shower for hours.
I will never forget the feeling of that first shower washing over me and making me new. It’s the renewal that was so beautiful to me. I was a girl again. I had clean hands, clean feet, clean hair. I felt like I could fly. My hair was soft, and my skin was glowing. I wasn’t dirty or ugly anymore. I was in every sense lovely. And for the first time, I truly believed it.
That afternoon, Danny came over with his parents, bringing me food and blankets. Jay drove up from Daytona, and we lay on the carpet in my bedroom and talked about the faithfulness of God. I’d recently joined Good News Church and its Bible study group, and a few friends I had met there came over that night too. We all prayed together in joyous thanksgiving for this victory. Jay was very proud of me for making it through a tough time. “You are the strongest girl I know,” he said. “You can do anything!”
I took his words to heart and tried my best to become something and someone worth being.
I was still an avid surfer, so most mornings I put my board under my arm and walked across the street to the sunlit ocean. This day, I had been surfing all morning, taking a break only to drive to A Street after hearing that the swell had picked up by the pier. It was a local hot spot. It was hard to get in the lineup, especially as a young woman who didn’t know how to do any tricks. I was a longboard surfer who could paddle out and catch a few waves, but that was about it. I was only there to ride the wave peacefully.
After being in the water all day, I was sunburned and hungry. It was a little after 5 p.m., but I decided to ride one more wave and then come in. It was just so beautiful!
I paddled out, and what happened next was awful.
Out of nowhere, a wave rolled over me and sent me barreling into someone who was riding a wave.
I panicked. I did all I could do to get out of his way, but I got caught up in the roll. It sent my feet overhead into the swell. My board flew above me as I tried to get above the roll of the ocean wave.
After the wave passed, I made it above the water, gasping for air. I could see shore, and I tried to swim.
Nothing.
My arms moved, but not my legs. A cloud of red blood surrounded me in the water. Panic again flooded my body. Something had happened to my legs. They were completely limp. I couldn’t feel them, couldn’t move them.
Lord, please don’t let me die out here!
Another surfer swam toward me as I began to drown. As he dragged me out of the water, leaving a trail of blood in my wake, I looked down and saw a giant piece of flesh protruding out by my right hip, just below my bikini line. Down to the bone, veins, ligaments—I could see it all.
Had I just been bitten by a shark?
He placed me in the sand and prayed over me as a crowd gathered around us. Shock had taken its toll. All I could do was say the name of Jesus. I repeated his name over and over. The EMTs gave me shots of something that knocked me out. I woke up in the hospital covered in blood and sandy from head to toe. I tried to move my legs again.
Nothing.
A doctor came in to tell me what had happened. The fin of my board had stabbed me in the thigh, missing my femoral artery by just one centimeter. It was a miracle I was alive. She said the numbness in my legs was from shock. Although several nerves were severed, she believed I would just lose feeling in my right leg but eventually be able to walk again.
Miracle!
As the doctor began to stitch up my thigh, I told her all about my friend Jesus. He had been saving me since childhood. He was always keeping me from the edge of death. Her eyes widened as she silently worked on my leg. I’m pretty sure she thought I was one of those crazy Bible thumpers, but she listened politely as I gushed over the love that God has for us.
When the doctor discharged me the next day, Mr. and Mrs. Swanson came to the hospital to take me to my apartment. Mr. Swanson is a six-foot-six, 290-pound rugged fisherman, so he had no problem scooping me off the gurney. He carried me to their truck and placed me in the back seat. We made a quick trip to CVS for my medication and then drove straight to my apartment. Mr. Swanson gently carried me to my bed while Mrs. Swanson found some towels to put under my leg. Like a true mother hen, she went right to my fridge. Once she saw the empty shelves, she quickly set off to Publix for groceries.
The road to recovery was trying, to say the least. For weeks, other people had to help me bathe, use the bathroom, and raise money to help me pay the bills until I could go back to work.
It was my worst nightmare.
Relying on others was absolute torture for me. I hated taking anything from anybody, let alone accepting help for so many basic things. But it was during this season of trial that I learned the importance of community. I also learned that having pity on someone and caring for them are two different things. Just because someone cares for me doesn’t mean they pity me.
When Mrs. Swanson insisted on filling my fridge with food, it was an act of deep compassion, not pity. So I let her cook meals for me. I accepted Danny’s offer to stay with me most nights until he had to leave for his stint with the Coast Guard. He changed my bandages and helped me get to the bathroom. I looked forward to Jay’s weekly visits when he would pray over me and bring me smoothies. I was grateful when my Bible study group raised money for my rent and other essentials so I could heal in peace without fear of losing everything I had worked so hard for. These people did all this out of love and empathy. They tended to me because they saw a need they could fill—and did fill—with great care, I must say!
What would I have done without these precious people who were there for me in my times of great need? I was “Spike” when Danny first saved me from a few wretched little girls in the lunch line. I was a senior in high school when Jay gave me a job at Smoothie King, only to find out that I needed a lot more than a job! What would I have done if he hadn’t driven me to school in that Smoothie King van?
Now this! The Swansons and Jabours were a real family to me, and they were kind without ever expecting anything in return. They simply saw my needs and met them without one thought for themselves. What would my life have been like without them?
God, in his infinite wisdom, placed me in the path of some of his most loving people.
God reminded me that free will is a gift. Even when someone decides to abuse their gift of free will to harm another, there are still plenty of people who choose to use their free will to do good. God is not the author of violent or hateful acts. He is the God of love. He is love! We are not robots, pulled by strings on a whim. We are humans. We are free to say, do, believe, and feel whatever we want. How should we use this ultimate gift of free will from our Creator?
It would have been impossible for me to heal if the Swanson and Jabour families had not sacrificially loved and cared for me. Good News Church helped too. Pastor Andy and his wife, Kristy, were so loving and kind. They gave me money to pay my rent and other bills until I could walk again. How wonderful to have a small community of human beings to help me when I was in need! From bedridden to wheelchair to crutches to walking to running, I made it through—thanks to my new family.
After three months of healing and getting back into the swing of work, I decided I wanted to move to Jacksonville Beach, about twenty miles up the coast. I was about to embark on a new chapter in my life. I couldn’t wait to spread my wings to see where they would take me.
Until the time came to fulfill his dreams,
the LORD tested Joseph’s character.
Psalm 105:19 NLT