William Stringfellow and home

I was in the library tonight, reading a book called My People is the Enemy by William Stringfellow, a white lawyer who moved into East Harlem in the 60's, just fresh out of Harvard Law School. He moved into a smelly tenement filled with cockroaches, with water dripping out of the toilet, and the whole place was only 25 by 12 feet. In the introduction, he writes the following:

"This was to be my home.
I wondered, for a moment, why.
Then I remembered that this is the sort of place in which most people live, in most of the world, for most of the time. This or something worse.
Then I was home."

It is humbling to realize that in my short period of time on the streets, I am living at a level that in many ways is not even as bad as what most people are going through throughout the world. I get plenty to eat--the soup kitchens are open for practically every meal, seven days a week. I do walk a heck of alot, but that is nothing compared to the agonizing work that many have to endure day to day, week after week, year after year, and with hardly any compensation. As far as sleeping goes, I have a great sleeping bag that keeps me quite warm and dry, and we sleep under a bridge so that the rain cannot touch us. As far as the toilet, although sometimes it is hard to find a place to use the facilities, I am still able to use fine toilets--a luxury many in the two-thirds world are unable to access on a regular basis.
So, even though I am "homeless," my living conditions are quite grand compared to many. Like Stringfellow, I think I'm rediscovering what "home" is.