The school principal was craving a What-A-Burger, so I volunteered to get one for him and his administrative assistant. We have all been friends for many years, as I have worked with kids on their campus.
The orange and white building is only about a half mile from the high school. Parking, I noticed a beyond middle-aged woman sitting against the exterior bricks, drawing something on her backpack. This particular town has lots of homeless people, and seeing them at restaurants, grocery stores, and pharmacies is commonplace. She captured my imagination quicker than others, as I noticed her attire was clothing that was likely considered elegant years before hard times, and months after their last cleaning. Her hair, displaying scant remnants of blond, was now mostly gray and poking up in odd places, being styled by wherever she had last laid her head. Residue of make-up left traces of attempts to “make herself presentable.” Her tennis shoes were worn beyond recognizing their original color.
I asked her a really stupid question, “Are you hungry?” She snapped to attention and looked me straight in the eyes with a pleasant assertiveness. “Yes sir, I have not had anything to eat since yesterday morning.” I asked what she would like to eat, and she replied, “I’m not picky, but I sure like Dr. Pepper.” So, I told her I would be back in a few minutes. Coming out with my sacks, I gave her the one with her food and sat down beside her on the sidewalk, using the exterior wall as a backrest.
I asked her if she would like to go eat inside where it is comfortable and cool, to which she said, “I’m not fit to go in there. I don’t think they like me hanging out inside.” Hmmm. I asked her where she was from, and she simply stated, “California.” I couldn’t help myself and inquired, “How long have you been in this city?” to which she retorted, “I have no idea—years.” She looked at me hard for a minute and pressed me a bit. “Mister, are you gonna turn me in, call the cops, try to get me to some shelter, or get a church to clean me up?” I assured her I was not. She continued, “Then what do you want? Is there something wrong with you?” I couldn’t help but chuckle as I said, “There’s something wrong with all of us, isn’t there?” Now she laughed, saying, “Amen.”
Now I felt more comfortable, so I asked her how she ended up on the streets. Without hesitation, she said, “I went crazy a long time ago. It may have been drugs, I’m not sure. I don’t do drugs now, though. I left a family. I don’t know where they are and don’t want to know. I’m sure I hurt them enough. I don’t have any friends and don’t need any. I pal up with people when I need to. You probably think I’m nuts, but I like it out here. If you put me in a shelter, I will leave. If you clean me up, I will get dirty again. If you give me meds, I won’t take them.” I told her I really appreciated her honesty and that I was sorry for her hard times. I asked if she needed anything else, to which she responded, “I don’t know what to think about you, mister. I’m good. I just needed some food, and you fed me.” I smiled and wished her God’s grace, to which she said, “That’s how I live every day.”
In the spring, we plant seeds that eventually become much larger plants. On a very hot spring day, I was not thinking about planting seeds, but I sure had some planted in me.
- Sometimes we just need to feed people, not fix them. Simple acts can carry more weight than a thousand intentions.
- Every person is a complex story that is still unfolding.
- Dignity matters more than solutions.
- Grace was not theoretical for her. That is “how she lives every day.”
- People need to be seen but not always rescued.
- Brokenness can carry clarity.
- I need to be willing to be the soil—not always the planter.
- God can speak in multiple manners.
- Humility is a gift—and she gifted me.
In my arrogance, I may have unconsciously thought I could plant a seed in her for the price of a crispy chicken sandwich meal. Instead, she planted seeds deeply in me, and I sure hope I allow them to grow.
Blessings,
Eric
