(Editors Note:  Sometimes, I cry when I write.  I admit that.  I've learned that the things I write that make me cry are the things that inspire others to feel emotions that drag them from the mundane into my world.  I sat in a coffee shop crying as I wrote parts of this.  They were not tears of sadness, but tears of celebration.  I hope you feel that, too.)

I ventured to Boulder Saturday afternoon to investigate opportunities to set up shop in the greenest city in America for a new "green" industry.  I saw the Mork and Mindy House, and parked there, just two blocks from Pearl Street and the row of shops, restaurants and boutiques.  Several blocks up, heading toward the beautiful mountains, is the Pearl St. pedestrian mall.  I walked its length, stopped for a slice of garlic and pesto pizza because there's a lot of vegetarian offerings in Boulder.

Outside the pizza shop, a man selling newspapers tried to get my attention.  I kept walking.  I am selective about the strangers I talk with, and selfishly, I really didn't think he had anything to offer me. I began walking back to the car, and at the edge of the pedestrian mall, a lady with a black cowboy hat and a smile turned and looked me in the eye, asking if I wanted to buy a newspaper for a dollar.  Before I could process my answer, she added, "I used to be homeless, and if you buy a paper, I get to keep 75 cents of the price."

She stopped me in my tracks. "You used to be homeless?"  

"Yes.  I used to be out on the street with a cup, and this newspaper has given me a chance to make enough money to get a modest apartment and get off the street."  I eagerly bought a paper, but felt compelled to learn her story.  She told me about the newspaper, the Denver Voice, which is part of a nationwide program to give the homeless an option other than panhandling to earn a modest living.  I asked her name, and took in her countenance, which was friendly, but weathered, with blondish-gray, straight hair spilling from under her black cowboy hat.  On the brim of the hat was a colorful little stuffed bear.  Raylene wore a white turtleneck sweater and a black vest with blue jeans, not unlike many of the pedestrians shopping in the upscale stores.  When she spoke, her teeth were crooked, but after listening for a brief time, I no longer noticed that.

Raylene told me part of her story, leaving out much of the heartache, to be certain.  She downplayed much of the hardship while conveying the uncertainties of life on the street, not knowing what fate might bring her way on a daily basis.  As she spoke, I did not detect an ounce of bitterness in her voice.    

She talked about the other homeless people she would encounter.  I was standing with my hands in my pocket, and she reached in and pulled out my hand.  

"Feel my hand," she said, giving me no choice in the matter.  "Feel how warm my hand is?  That's what's kept me alive.  Other people don't have that.  Some of them died.  It gets cold out here."

She said the newspaper contained a story about the biggest problem , that Boulder police would write tickets to homeless people for $100.  If they weren't paid, the violators would be jailed at a cost of thousands of dollars to taxpayers.  Then the offender would be turned out to the streets again, in a worse position than before. Raylene admitted that she had been jailed.  A friend on the streets introduced her to the Denver Voice, and Raylene welcomed the chance to work.  Part of the problem being on the street, she said, is wondering who might ever hire you, and for what kind of job.

She said it took awhile, but before long, people got used to seeing her in the same place and would seek her out to buy the paper.  She started making money immediately, and the first thing she did, she said, was to pay the $100 ticket.  

Then, she saved, and found her modest apartment.

Raylene works six days a week, selling papers on the street.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays, in season, she sells at the Farmer's Market a few blocks away, but the other four days, she's at the edge of the Pearl St. Mall.  With great pride, she told me that she was asked to write about her story for an upcoming issue of the paper.  An editor is working with her, and she knows exactly what she wants to communicate.

I'll tell you what Raylene communicated to me.  Hope.
Here is a woman who, for whatever reason, lost every worldly possession she owned and ended up in a terrible predicament.  She never lost hope.  She never lost her moral compass.  She never gave up on herself.  I have friends and family who have never come close to seeing what Raylene has seen, and sadly, they have given up on their lives and on themselves.  

But there's Raylene, waving to passersby on a February afternoon.  She's cheerful.  She's polite.  She has warm hands.  And as we parted, she said, "God bless you.  Come back and see me again."

I think I will.   

The Denver Voice (www.DenverVoice.org) is a really neat paper, published by a man named Richard Barnes.  It is part of a national effort, and is a member of the North American Street Newspaper Association, in conjunction with the Society of Professional Journalists and the Colorado Press Association.  You can learn more about the program at www.nasna.org, or contact Executive Director Andy Freeze at andy.freeze@nasna.org.