I had planned to write today about how so many pundits are now pronouncing President Obama’s presidency in danger of coming apart at the seams; but, then I read a piece in The Washington Post this morning that brought me back to a more-grounded reality. It was about a Virginia family’s slide from middle class to a homeless shelter. I ask you: Isn’t this what we should be focusing on?

The article chronicles the lives of Ron and Yolanda Vazquez and their three children, who have fallen upon hard times. Ron is an engineer who lost his job months ago; his wife, Yolanda, a part-time property manager. They were evicted from their three-bedroom townhouse and are now in their second shelter. Tomorrow, their time at this shelter runs out, too, and they’ll need to move yet again.

The plight of Vazquezes is not uncommon these days. According shelter managers quoted in the Post’s story, they’re seeing schoolteachers, computer technicians, and interior designers come through their doors, not to mention lawyers and mortgage bankers, among others. Like so many families, the Vazquezes never envisioned themselves living in a homeless shelter, five people in one bedroom. But there they are.

So many families are anxiously exhausting their options just to stay together, running through their savings and retirement income, staying with relatives, searching for new jobs, while watching their lives implode, without much power to improve their circumstance.

I have written before about people living on the edge, and how easy it is for people to find themselves slowly, but surely, sliding across the invisible line from normalcy to nightmare. I am reminded, once more, of my time working in a mental health crisis center and seeing people live out such nightmares – one day they were at work or in school, and the next day their lives had seemingly crumbled.

In our society, stories like that of the Vazquezes come and go. They’re often used by politicians to score points, or by newspapers and television stations to gain our interest; but tomorrow, when we move on to the next story, the Vazquezes will be packing their bags and moving their family, still entangled in a seemingly never-ending story. Their pain, their sorrow, their sense humiliation and anger will remain with them. They cannot shake it.

I must admit that I like reading stories about politics and what’s happening, even those silly stories about who is up and who is down. But the truth is that my heart and devotion is with the Vazquezes, and others like them.

As it happens, tomorrow, as the Vazquezes pack up their family, I will also pack my bags to go meet with teams from three communities that are part of our Kellogg Initiative focused on vulnerable children and families. The difference is that I know where my trip will lead me; but what about the Vazquezes?