By Chas. Wm. (Chuck) Holman
December 24, 2025
Today is Christmas Eve.
Most people are thinking about dinner plans, gifts, and family gatherings. I spent part of today talking with two men who have none of those things—only what they can carry, what they can remember, and what they still hope for.
One of those men was Paul V.
Paul looks to be around 60 years old. He lives on the street and pushes a couple of shopping carts filled with the remnants of a life—clothes, tools, personal items, things most of us would never want to live without, yet rarely notice until they’re gone.
Paul told me something that stood out immediately:
“I don’t use hard drugs. Just marijuana.”
That detail matters—not because it makes him “better” than anyone else, but because it cuts through one of the most common assumptions people make about homelessness.
Paul isn’t homeless because he wants to be. He’s homeless because five years ago he lost his disability income after a conviction. Since then, he’s been stuck in a system that makes it incredibly difficult to get back what he once had—even though he’s eligible to receive it again.
Right now, Paul’s monthly income would be about $960 if reinstated.
He isn’t asking for much.
He told me plainly:
“I just want a place to go.”
He said he would live in a safe-space shelter or transitional environment—somewhere stable, somewhere clean, somewhere with dignity. Paul doesn’t have a phone. He doesn’t have a caseworker actively walking him through the system. And without those things, even “available” help can feel unreachable.
What struck me most wasn’t desperation—it was clarity.
Paul knows what he needs.
Paul knows what he can manage.
Paul knows what stability would look like for him.
And yet, tonight, on Christmas Eve, he will sleep outside.
This is the part of homelessness that doesn’t show up in statistics.
It’s not just about beds.
It’s not just about money.
It’s about gaps—gaps between eligibility and access, between paperwork and people, between what exists on paper and what exists in real life.
I also spoke with another homeless individual today—different story, different circumstances—but the same underlying truth emerged:
Most people experiencing homelessness don’t need miracles.
They need pathways.
They need:
- a safe place to land
- help navigating systems that are confusing even for professionals
- someone willing to listen long enough to understand their situation
On Christmas Eve, this matters more than ever.
Because homelessness isn’t an abstract issue. It’s a human one. It has a name. It has a face. It pushes shopping carts. It waits for benefits to come back online. It hopes—quietly—that someone sees them.
Tonight, as many of us gather in warmth and safety, I’m carrying Paul’s story with me. And I’m reminded why this work matters—why we must build systems that meet people where they are, not where it’s convenient to imagine them to be.
If we can do that, then maybe Christmas Eve can become a turning point—not just a reminder of what’s missing, but of what’s possible.
— Chas. Wm. (Chuck) Holman