Homeless woman becomes part of KC neighborhood

KANSAS CITY, Mo. -- Marva Wills, owner of House of Flowers, doesn't remember when she first noticed the homeless woman sitting in the little alcove across the street.

She knows it was sometime this past winter, on a day that was bitterly cold.

Framed like a picture in her plate-glass window at 31st and Holmes streets was a lone woman wrapped in blankets and a sleeping bag. Red curls spilled from beneath her knit cap. Black sweatpants, black steel-toed work boots. Two pairs of gloves and a worn coat. Her face was ruddy, chapped by the wind. Only briefly did Wills see her eyes: Hazel-blue, deep in the pages of a book.

Wills started watching the woman. Saw that she didn't drink. Or take drugs. Or beg for money. She was always alone. She was just ... there.

Wills remembered a Bible verse from Philippians about learning to be content with lack. She wondered if the homeless woman was really an angel, sent to show a hurting world how little is really needed to live.

Marva Wills is seen April 9 in Kansas City, Mo. Wills, owner of House of Flowers, doesn't remember when she first noticed the homeless woman sitting in the little alcove across the street. (FRED BLOCHER ~ The Kansas City Star)

And then she saw something blossom.

Richard Lester, who lives nearby, stopped to talk to the woman and ask if she needed a good coat. Myla Davis, whose commute to work took her down 31st Street, brought coffee and sometimes cookies. Another person gave her a tarp. Someone else just wanted to tell her they were praying for her.

Strangers all.

But strangers no more, once they'd talked with her.

She became a familiar figure on 31st Street, the homeless woman who loved to read, who bothered no one.

Ministry

When the winds howled and Wills was snug in her bed, she wondered about the woman. Was she warm? Did she have enough to eat? How could this woman who had so little seem so content?

For 30 years Wills worked in the Kansas City School District, supervising a staff of counselors who worked with children from 5 to 18 years old. Before she retired from the district she became an ordained Methodist minister. She and her husband, Jack, raised two children. At retirement, they had a dream of opening a flower shop, along with an inner-city church.

In 1999, they found the building at 31st and Holmes streets. That day was like a hundred Christmases bundled together, she said She tole her husband they would have a church disguised as a flower shop.

They wanted their building to project warmth, to feel like a refuge from coldness.

But then Wills' husband died. She felt she would die, too. But she took a deep breath. She'd work harder. Set goals. Strive.

That first Sunday after Wills noticed the homeless woman, some children from the church took food to her. They invited her to join them.

I'm too dirty, she told them. Maybe next week.

The next Sunday, Wills went to her. Please come and join us, just as you are, she told the woman.

I'm too dirty this week, the woman said. But I'll come next Sunday. Promise.

Wills learned her name: Lorna.

The Sunday after that, Lorna came. The little group of believers sang and prayed and studied together. After church, they ate lunch.

Wills invited Lorna to visit the shop during the week. Come on in. You can sit in here, if you'd like. It's warm. It's safe.

Wills admired Lorna's confidence. How she dared to be herself, never trying to please, never worrying if someone liked her or didn't like her. Simply present in the moment.

"She's content," Wills said. "I see in her all the things I wish I was. She just is. 'This is who I am. This is me.'"

But two weeks ago, Wills watched as police visited Lorna. Someone had signed a complaint. No homeless people allowed here.

The next day, Lorna gave Wills some books and extra Bibles. Please take them, Lorna said, and give them to somebody else who could use them. I'll be OK. Spring is coming.

Wills watched as Lorna rolled up her blankets and sleeping bag. Then she disappeared down the street, walking slowly behind her cart.

'Where is Lorna?'

The people who had been talking to Lorna, giving her clothing and coffee and books, noticed she was gone. They've been asking Wills what happened.

She's fine, Wills tells them. She's still a regular at Wills' little church.

Lorna has found a new nook along 31st Street, a place to sleep when the sun goes down.

It's tough being homeless, she says. Lonely. "I wouldn't recommend it."

She isn't sure how it happened to her. She lost her job, then her apartment.

Now she finds joy in little things, like the park that keeps the light near the restrooms on. If she wants, she can read all night long.

And there are so many nice people out there.

Still, she's surprised how many have worried about her missing from her spot at 31st and Holmes.

Really? she says. People care about me?

And she grins wide.

"I'm not invisible after all."