On a recent trip down south to visit my sister for Thanksgiving, I had the opportunity to do something that I never thought I'd do. One of those things that I've been thinking a lot about lately and being influenced a great deal by a book I've been reading, called Bent Hope.
A walk through the neighbouring park with her dogs, a familiar outing, soon presented itself as an opportunity to help out a fellow human being who was definitely homeless. His clothes were dark coloured, greens and blacks, he wore a coat with a hood, boots with no tongues, and a beard light brown in colour. As we walked through the park, my sister had told me about him, and that she had just recently seen him hanging around her park. I was curious to know if we would get a chance to see him, never mind help him in any way.
Tim Huff's book, Bent Hope, is based in the GTA, and delicately describes some of his most memorable stories of youths living on the streets, elders without homes, all from different walks of life. This has been by far one of the most influential books I've ever read, besides my Bible of course. It has shown me that these people are nothing less than what you and I are. They have needs, they have wants, they breath just the same as the next human being. And yet, we, as a society, have such a warped sense of who they really are. A warped sense of who WE really are is more like it.
I have read enough stories, I have seen enough in my own city, and now I have had my first personal experience with one of "them". Their humanness is remarkable. I love them through and through. I don't even know them! But I love them for exactly what they are, and I don't even know exactly why. What I do know is Jesus loved the poor! He sat with them, He said we would always have them with us, and He instructed us to help them and to look after them. (Matthew 25:35)
And so when approaching our destination at the end of our walk in the park, I noticed that his grocery cart carrying his bags was laying on its side. He appeared to be crippled when he walked as well. I started to walk faster towards him, but not fast enough to startle him. There was no way, I was going to let something as pathetic as pride or fear stand in my way this time. I was sick of doing that. I was sick of being afraid to 'do something'.
I approached with caution and simply asked if he needed a hand. He nodded a humble, 'yes'. I was on it. He further went to tell me, in a normal, man's voice, that the cart was extremely heavy. I thought I was tough, tougher than him I guess, as I bent down to pick up the cart and turned it upright, I said jokingly, "yah, is it ever." He liked that, and chuckled saying..."I told you it was heavy". Once the cart was in position, one of the duffle bags needed to be lifted back up into the cart, and so it was for certain too heavy for me alone, and so I called my brother over to help. He graciously accepted the offer as well.
Fun loving, small giggles, normal contact and human relations were the spark for the next few minutes. Man, did I want to say something special to him. This was my chance! "Don't blow this", I kept saying to myself. And what comes out of my mouth as my last words? Ugh..."Take it easy".
Are you kidding me? What does that mean? Take it easy to a homeless guy? What a NOT good thing to say to someone who has nothing going on in life but making sure he eats, and his cart doesn't fall over! And I ended it with..."Take it easy." That was depressing to say the least. Oh well. I guess it was the thought that counted. So I left and returned home to my comfortable house with all of the family. But my mind never left the park. I looked out the window constantly. I thought about what he was doing, I thought about his boots, and his feet that looked like they were cold. I thought about where he went to the bathroom, and the fact that he didn't even have the privilege of using toilet paper.
I realized how many small, minute things we take for granted. Like soap, hair that smells like shampoo, toilet paper, razors, towels, warm socks, anything we want really. I felt sick actually. I honestly felt like giving him everything I owned. I felt like going to the mall and buying him some warm woolly socks, and some new boots with those liners in them. The tall kind that you can walk through the snow with. But yet I didn't. To be honest, no one in my family wanted to bring me to the mall, and we had "other plans" sort of thing so, it just didn't work out I guess.
What we did do though, is pack him a small container with some fresh turkey dinner fixin's, some dessert and a diet coke. I liked that. So we headed back out to the park, and wondered the whole time if he'd still be there. We had seen him earlier, once again, eating a little bread or something, so I knew he had eaten a little bit. But I was so very excited to give him this hot turkey dinner. On our way to the park, a car had pulled over, put the flashers on, and ran out to give him some leftover fries from their dinner, which he was consuming when we approached.
Again, not to startle him, we approached slowly, and a simple "Hey there", was all we needed to break the silence. He said hello once again, and proceeded to pack up his styrofoam dinner. We then presented the turkey dinner, and all the extras, which he was so thankful for. "Gracious" were part of his thank you words.
So once the meal was given, the thank you's said, we turned and left. Again, so disappointed in myself for not having the courage to ask him for his name. Even something as simple as his name had crossed my mind earlier in the day, thinking..."does he even have a name?" Isn't that the worst thing you've ever heard? Did I think he was like cattle or something? I must be the worst person alive. And so I just felt it was so important to address him personally, so he felt that contact. Maybe it was more for me, I don't know.
I guess I figure I'm the only person on the earth to ever speak to him, but I'm a rooky at this. My heart, however, is overwhelmed by the Lord's mercy, in trying to help the less fortunate. And low and behold, just as we were walking away, he said, "Hey, do you know what time it is?"
So I told him it was 6:35 pm as I walked back with a small pause in my step, but I followed my heart and asked him his name.
He said, "It's Mike."
And we shook his hand, wished him a Happy Thanksgiving, and told him it was so very nice to meet him.
A walk through the neighbouring park with her dogs, a familiar outing, soon presented itself as an opportunity to help out a fellow human being who was definitely homeless. His clothes were dark coloured, greens and blacks, he wore a coat with a hood, boots with no tongues, and a beard light brown in colour. As we walked through the park, my sister had told me about him, and that she had just recently seen him hanging around her park. I was curious to know if we would get a chance to see him, never mind help him in any way.
Tim Huff's book, Bent Hope, is based in the GTA, and delicately describes some of his most memorable stories of youths living on the streets, elders without homes, all from different walks of life. This has been by far one of the most influential books I've ever read, besides my Bible of course. It has shown me that these people are nothing less than what you and I are. They have needs, they have wants, they breath just the same as the next human being. And yet, we, as a society, have such a warped sense of who they really are. A warped sense of who WE really are is more like it.
I have read enough stories, I have seen enough in my own city, and now I have had my first personal experience with one of "them". Their humanness is remarkable. I love them through and through. I don't even know them! But I love them for exactly what they are, and I don't even know exactly why. What I do know is Jesus loved the poor! He sat with them, He said we would always have them with us, and He instructed us to help them and to look after them. (Matthew 25:35)
And so when approaching our destination at the end of our walk in the park, I noticed that his grocery cart carrying his bags was laying on its side. He appeared to be crippled when he walked as well. I started to walk faster towards him, but not fast enough to startle him. There was no way, I was going to let something as pathetic as pride or fear stand in my way this time. I was sick of doing that. I was sick of being afraid to 'do something'.
I approached with caution and simply asked if he needed a hand. He nodded a humble, 'yes'. I was on it. He further went to tell me, in a normal, man's voice, that the cart was extremely heavy. I thought I was tough, tougher than him I guess, as I bent down to pick up the cart and turned it upright, I said jokingly, "yah, is it ever." He liked that, and chuckled saying..."I told you it was heavy". Once the cart was in position, one of the duffle bags needed to be lifted back up into the cart, and so it was for certain too heavy for me alone, and so I called my brother over to help. He graciously accepted the offer as well.
Fun loving, small giggles, normal contact and human relations were the spark for the next few minutes. Man, did I want to say something special to him. This was my chance! "Don't blow this", I kept saying to myself. And what comes out of my mouth as my last words? Ugh..."Take it easy".
Are you kidding me? What does that mean? Take it easy to a homeless guy? What a NOT good thing to say to someone who has nothing going on in life but making sure he eats, and his cart doesn't fall over! And I ended it with..."Take it easy." That was depressing to say the least. Oh well. I guess it was the thought that counted. So I left and returned home to my comfortable house with all of the family. But my mind never left the park. I looked out the window constantly. I thought about what he was doing, I thought about his boots, and his feet that looked like they were cold. I thought about where he went to the bathroom, and the fact that he didn't even have the privilege of using toilet paper.
I realized how many small, minute things we take for granted. Like soap, hair that smells like shampoo, toilet paper, razors, towels, warm socks, anything we want really. I felt sick actually. I honestly felt like giving him everything I owned. I felt like going to the mall and buying him some warm woolly socks, and some new boots with those liners in them. The tall kind that you can walk through the snow with. But yet I didn't. To be honest, no one in my family wanted to bring me to the mall, and we had "other plans" sort of thing so, it just didn't work out I guess.
What we did do though, is pack him a small container with some fresh turkey dinner fixin's, some dessert and a diet coke. I liked that. So we headed back out to the park, and wondered the whole time if he'd still be there. We had seen him earlier, once again, eating a little bread or something, so I knew he had eaten a little bit. But I was so very excited to give him this hot turkey dinner. On our way to the park, a car had pulled over, put the flashers on, and ran out to give him some leftover fries from their dinner, which he was consuming when we approached.
Again, not to startle him, we approached slowly, and a simple "Hey there", was all we needed to break the silence. He said hello once again, and proceeded to pack up his styrofoam dinner. We then presented the turkey dinner, and all the extras, which he was so thankful for. "Gracious" were part of his thank you words.
So once the meal was given, the thank you's said, we turned and left. Again, so disappointed in myself for not having the courage to ask him for his name. Even something as simple as his name had crossed my mind earlier in the day, thinking..."does he even have a name?" Isn't that the worst thing you've ever heard? Did I think he was like cattle or something? I must be the worst person alive. And so I just felt it was so important to address him personally, so he felt that contact. Maybe it was more for me, I don't know.
I guess I figure I'm the only person on the earth to ever speak to him, but I'm a rooky at this. My heart, however, is overwhelmed by the Lord's mercy, in trying to help the less fortunate. And low and behold, just as we were walking away, he said, "Hey, do you know what time it is?"
So I told him it was 6:35 pm as I walked back with a small pause in my step, but I followed my heart and asked him his name.
He said, "It's Mike."
And we shook his hand, wished him a Happy Thanksgiving, and told him it was so very nice to meet him.
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