I am sitting in the parking lot of Toys R Us, stuffing a baby shower gift and gift tissue into a bright yellow bag. She makes eye contact through the windshield and I see her mouth move.
Before I realize it, my door is open and I am stepping out to ask her what she wants. I think at some point I made an internal calculation to treat her like "any other person". And by "any other" I mean a human who's hair is more kept, clothes are clean, and doesn't smell of a faint odor. I decide these things don't matter.
I'm just trying to get a little something to eat.
There's a Subway across the lot and we walk over there. Her name is Barbara, and a few short questions prompt open sharing: getting hit by a truck and breaking all the toes in her left foot, getting denied housing offered by a combination of letters and numbers (I realize how ignorant I am about what's even available), a job lost and no more to be found, seven children scattered around, living under a bridge.
I want to ask her if she wants me to take her somewhere, but I don't even know how. After all my connections with the Mission I don't even know what to say. Thinking back now I should have offered because there's at least free food downtown, and shelter. She could get a bed for a night, though after talking with the homeless shelter even enough beds for everyone is hard to get by. But there are other question floating in my mind: do I smell alcohol? Because that would disqualify her. Or is it offensive to offer such a thing?
When we're in Subway I feel eyes on us, though I may be imagining it. We order a sweet onion teriyaki foot-long, and when I ask her when was the last time she had a good sandwich, she can't even remember. Grateful, so grateful, she thanks me when we're walking across the lot, when I offer her a drink, when I buy her chips, when I give her the $2 change (is she on drugs? will she waste it? who am I do judge?). They cut the sandwich in half so she will eat half now and save the other for later.
I pray for her and give her a hug and she is grateful. I think of other things: would she like to make a call on my phone? should I take her to a shelter? is it a bad idea to leave her my number? In the end I just give her another hug and she leaves to find a place to eat her sandwich.
Maybe she doesn't know there are places that will help her, and maybe next time I meet someone like her I will have the guts to tell them what's available.
It seems like the more I let people like Barbara cross my path, the more my soul stirs in unrest. Gone are the feel-good feelings of helping someone in need and doing your part. Instead is the sinking sadness that this is the reality of people in our world. And a hint of shame that you somehow manage to escape life without knowing of their existence.
Before I realize it, my door is open and I am stepping out to ask her what she wants. I think at some point I made an internal calculation to treat her like "any other person". And by "any other" I mean a human who's hair is more kept, clothes are clean, and doesn't smell of a faint odor. I decide these things don't matter.
I'm just trying to get a little something to eat.
There's a Subway across the lot and we walk over there. Her name is Barbara, and a few short questions prompt open sharing: getting hit by a truck and breaking all the toes in her left foot, getting denied housing offered by a combination of letters and numbers (I realize how ignorant I am about what's even available), a job lost and no more to be found, seven children scattered around, living under a bridge.
I want to ask her if she wants me to take her somewhere, but I don't even know how. After all my connections with the Mission I don't even know what to say. Thinking back now I should have offered because there's at least free food downtown, and shelter. She could get a bed for a night, though after talking with the homeless shelter even enough beds for everyone is hard to get by. But there are other question floating in my mind: do I smell alcohol? Because that would disqualify her. Or is it offensive to offer such a thing?
When we're in Subway I feel eyes on us, though I may be imagining it. We order a sweet onion teriyaki foot-long, and when I ask her when was the last time she had a good sandwich, she can't even remember. Grateful, so grateful, she thanks me when we're walking across the lot, when I offer her a drink, when I buy her chips, when I give her the $2 change (is she on drugs? will she waste it? who am I do judge?). They cut the sandwich in half so she will eat half now and save the other for later.
I pray for her and give her a hug and she is grateful. I think of other things: would she like to make a call on my phone? should I take her to a shelter? is it a bad idea to leave her my number? In the end I just give her another hug and she leaves to find a place to eat her sandwich.
Maybe she doesn't know there are places that will help her, and maybe next time I meet someone like her I will have the guts to tell them what's available.
It seems like the more I let people like Barbara cross my path, the more my soul stirs in unrest. Gone are the feel-good feelings of helping someone in need and doing your part. Instead is the sinking sadness that this is the reality of people in our world. And a hint of shame that you somehow manage to escape life without knowing of their existence.
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