A year after my last post, I'm going to give it a try. And I won't write just because I'm supposed to, because it's a good idea to note experiences lest I forget them; that's never motivated me to journal before. No, this is my tiny attempt to acknowledge, (honestly but without having to get too personal), that God is at work in St. Louis, and that even when He's not showing me ultimate solutions to hardship and brokenness and poverty, He's always teaching me something.
Yesterday I met two men. Both claimed to be homeless; at least one actually was. Lamar I met first.
"Excuse me ma'am, I hate to bother you, but I'm trying to get bus fare and I was just wondering if you could spare anything to help me out."
His shirt looks a little damp, having stood longer in the sprinkling rain than I.
"I'm not one of those bad guys you see out here..." His voice trails off as he half-heartedly holds out a newsprint magazine page with inch-tall headshots of who-knows who. "This is me." He lifts a finger toward one square. "I'm just trying to get myself together."
We talk for a moment longer, exchange names, and I decide to give him what little change I have. To be honest, I'm never really sure when it's right to give money instead of buying food or just continuing conversation. I try to say a quick prayer for wisdom about what would be most serving to the individual. But when I'm not sure, I usually err on the side of, "Give to everyone who asks you" (Luke 6:30). Anyway, I hand it to him with well-wishes of getting where he's going safely.
I walk away, slowly realizing how desperately Lamar clung to the idea of a positive identity.
I often wish after these conversations that I'd been brave enough to say more.
Down the block, I pull the car over to fill my gas tank, and when I step out, I hear a voice coming from the other end of the pump.
"Hello ma'am, how are ya, would I be able to pump your gas for you or maybe wash your windows or really anything to help cuz I'm homeless and it's raining and I don't know how I'm gonna get to a shelter." Like so many homeless folks, he rushes to say as much as he can before backs are turned.
Holding out my hand, I introduce myself. "And what's your name, sir?"
"I'm Keith. Glad to meet you, Julie. And like I said, anything I can do to help, I just don't know how else to get where I'm going."
Feeling inadequate, I tell him honestly, "I only had a few coins, but I gave them to a guy I just met down the street named Lamar."
"Damnit, Lamar," he exhales. But I continue.
"How long have you been out here, Keith?"
"About six months now. I walk down to that unemployment office a few times a week to get on the computer and look for jobs, but there's just nothin."
"I'm really sorry I don't have anything to offer you. Except...if it's okay with you, I can remember you in my prayers." To be honest again, I still always feel a little sheepish when offering prayer, as if even though I know its power, I still doubt whether it's received as sincere.
Keith answers, "You know, Julie, I would really appreciate that. It feels like God's not there when you call, but I know He's there when you need Him..."
Now a guy about my age walks over and hands Keith a bag of sunflower seeds. "These are for you man. I just bought them." Keith thanks the guy sincerely, but when the car door shuts, he looks at me and says, "It's the same price--why didn't he just get me a hotdog?"
"He's trying," I offer.
"You're right. You're right."
Himself sheepish this time, he asks, "Can I pump your gas for you anyway?" I protest that he shouldn't waste his time on me, since I can't help with bus fare.
"Please allow me. If I can do something to help someone it makes me feel...like I still matter."
I nod for him to go ahead. He stops the pump at exactly the amount I asked. I shake his hand and say goodbye to him by name, as he does the same for me. As I climb into my car, the police officer who has observed our entire exchange from a nearby squad car slowly pulls away, and I notice a puzzled kind of look on her face.
The scent of being long without a shower stays on my right hand as I drive home. I think of Keith sleeping on the stone steps of a nearby church every night it's not raining. I think of him walking all night under storefront overhangs when it storms and he can't get to a shelter. I think of what it must be like to feel completely worthless, and to have people reinforce your insignificance all day long. I thank God that He's helping me and people like the sunflower-seed-guy start to notice those we'd normally overlook or, worse, avoid.
Please pray for Lamar and Keith to know God's provision, and to deeply trust His opinion of their great value.
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