I'll See You In Two Weeks

Another story about an encounter at the homeless shelter I volunteer at.  A woman, very French, took me by surprise tonight. Her name is Gatienne. She’s mostly bald, just a few grey hairs standing on end, she can barely speak English, eats like a horse and I just love her. They say she’s a pain in the butt because she takes forever to get organized and get out of the dining area while they’re trying to clean. But I love her.

I helped her out with a few things tonight, getting her ketchup for her hot dog and what not. I listened to her to tell me what the best way to get ketchup out of an almost empty bottle was, with a little vinegar. I kind of knew that already, but she just wanted to tell me something I didn’t know, you know? I like that. While I was wiping the table where she had sat with friends for dinner, she asked me my name, and I told her it was “Sue”. Well she nearly fell over; her eyes were as big as saucers. She said her daughter’s nurse I think it was, or her daughter, or her nurse for her cancer was named Sue. She was so excited she was speaking so fast I could barely understand her. Someone she knew anyways. It's nothing to us really to have that connection of knowing someone with the same name, no big deal right, but to her it meant everything. She was so happy to know that small bit of information; to know someone with the same name as someone she knows. Perhaps she felt a connection that way, perhaps as I had felt something with her because she was French.

As she was being rushed out the door by the custodians, she turned her head and asked me if she would see me again. I told her in two weeks, that I would be back in two weeks and with hearing that she was so thrilled. She reminded me of someone that could be my aunt because her accent was so thick, although she was a lot more French than my family, but it just seemed so familiar to me. She just wanted to talk to someone. She just wanted someone to talk to. She just wants someone to notice her, to know she’s just like the rest of us. After she went to the hallway with her tea to wait to come back in the dining room, I proceeded to the kitchen and almost burst into tears.

Maybe she grew up like my mom with a house full of siblings, maybe not. I want to imagine that for her. I want her to know that a small piece of my heart belongs to her right now. I want her to be able to feel like a woman who cared for things, looked after things, and helped out in a kitchen or cooked a meal, just those regular things that most women do in their lifetime. I need a place where I can just sit and share some time with them, a comfortable place for them to know that I respect them for who they are, as people, not as homeless or in need of a handout. The dignity that they show, the humility that they express, the lack of pride to be able to not only stand in line for a free meal, but to be so graciously thankful to us who work there and serve it to them, is second to none.

I would like to get her something. I would like to get her a bag or two sewn up with her name on it. She was carrying around a couple of plastic bags with her, and perhaps a pretty bag with her name on it might make her smile.

God blesses us with people like this each and every day. Let's take a moment to make notice of these precious gifts He has given.