There Aren't Supposed To Be Any Homeless People Here

 'If only, if only'
the woodpecker sighed
'The bark on the trees were as soft as the skies'
While the wolf waits below,
hungry and lonely,
He cries to the moon
'If only, if only'.
 - from the book Holes, my Louis Sachar 

There has been at least four distinct times when I have been asked for money or assistance by complete strangers. A woman and daughter approaching me in a parking lot and saying they are desperate for rent money, a man asking for money for gas, a woman in need of a ride, and another woman in need of gas money. It makes me wonder if, when a stranger spots me, if they can peg me as someone who will try to help. The interesting thing is, it's rather hit or miss as to if I have any cash in my wallet, yet in each instance I did have cash - usually a $20 - which I could hand out. Admittedly, there is a part of me which is annoyed by these encounters. I work two jobs, I plan ahead. I don't have much of a cushion when it comes to funds. My money is hard-earned. To hand a $20 to a stranger whose story I can't prove or disprove, just because they came up to me and spilled their tale of woe, is somewhat irksome.

Then there is the other part of me which is thankful to be able to help. The part which is honored to pass on some of what I've been blessed with, and also hopeful that if I were ever in a similar situation that I would meet a stranger willing to open their wallet or give me a ride. Just like with the tattooed good Samaritan who stopped to change a tire, I've been helped along the way whether I've had to ask or not. It's not easy to choose to beg. Every coin has two sides, and I'm ever so thankful not just for the side I'm on but for opportunities which remind me of that fact.

Those situations have been fairly cut and dry. Hand over some money, give someone a ride, hope things get better and have a good day. Done and done. Then, there's Danny Kane. Danny wandered into church a couple of years ago. Worn clothes, old hat, plastic bag with indistinguishable contents clutched tight in his hand, greying hair and dark weathered skin. He was homeless. He asked for a pair of shoes. How could anyone deny such a humble and true request? The church bought him a new pair of shoes. He asked for someplace to stay, because it was the middle of winter, just for a few days. He said he was figuring things out. A few days turned into a few weeks, and it quickly became apparent that Danny had mental issues. He claimed he couldn't work because he was waiting on social security money and if he got a job it would screw things up, or something like that. The pastor met with him many times and tried to get him into a long-term housing shelter. The church researched and found one that seemed like it would fit him and meet his needs and offered to pay for his transportation to get there, but he refused. He refused the offer, but became angry when the church had to stop paying for his motel room. So he left. He had made the rounds of a few other churches in town, gleaning what assistance he could, moving on to someplace else when he didn't like how things were going.

At the time, I would see Danny pretty regularly walking around town with his plastic bag in hand. Then suddenly I didn't see him anymore. Eventually I forgot about him: out of sight, out of mind. Until a couple of weeks ago, when he walked into church once more. He came and left and that was that, except that now I see him around town once more. I've seen him three times in the past week, always the same: walking slowly down a sidewalk or along the side of the road, head bent down, long-sleeved jacket on even when it's 90+ degrees. I wonder: is there something I'm supposed to do? Some way I should help? When I see him it pricks my heart, but am I supposed to turn my car around and go buy him lunch? If he came up to me and asked then yes, I'd give him food or some cash. I can't imagine what it must be like to be him. Always walking but never really going anywhere. Just keeping from loitering or committing any other offense in a town where any homeless people who beg who are spotted by the police are given lunch then driven to the city where there is a frighteningly large homeless population, with shelters which are always full. In this town, there are no shelters. There are not supposed to be any homeless here.

I live in a town supposedly without homelessness, yet I've seen a homeless man three times in one week. It's not cut and dry, it's not done and done. Danny has mental problems and I'm really not qualified to help.  Not in any lasting way at least. So what do I do? Again there is a part of me that thinks, 'well, not my problem', while another part thinks of how lonely he must be, how tired of being a nomad and a beggar. I wish there was some easy answer. Some magical way to make things right. If only.

The Mercy

Speak slow, they said, but I've no choice
my tongue's on fire, won't pull my voice
Away from all these words that flow
right through my mind, my heart can't slow
With ever rhythm's rise and swell
hold onto life and keep it well
Beyond all war and hate and crime
find something worthy and sublime
Something meaningful and true
the soul will plant that seed anew
The seed of faith and love and hope
we'd drown without that three-cord rope
So burst upon me: brilliant, bright
such splendor in the dead of night
Such beauty breaks my heart in two
tears me apart, makes me brand new
Is this then, how a Phoenix feels?
wakes from the fire and reveals
All age and ashes fall away
a new, pure life, on one pure day
So raw and honest and intense
the mystery of providence
The mercy which would bend so low
to touch the earth, and just to show
A love that never was deserved
that makes the dead alive, reserved
For every person, every race
the mercy glances off each face
So filthy, ragged, destitute
in our own strength, so weak and mute
So that is why I shout and sing
a bird must fly when given wing
The mercy glanced off my dead being
gave me life and life's true meaning
I'll urge everyone I know
accept the mercy, don't be slow!
Hello, my name is Lazarus
I was dead, all dust to dust
Heaven knows, what I would be
if the mercy didn't come to me
Yet true and unto it's sweet name
it did and I am not the same
So let me share this life with all
beseech the world to heed the call
Like a Phoenix, I will soar
someday to heaven, forevermore
So I ask, reason, and plea:
to heaven won't you come with me?

The Tattooed Good Samaritan

 We had been driving for an hour and a half and still had about three to go. My sister Sara and I had spent a couple of days at the beach. We were on our way home: sunburned but happy. When the car started making a bad noise we pulled onto the shoulder. The back right tire was smoking, and very flat. Faced with trying to put on the spare, we managed to drive underneath an overpass where there would be some shade. We unloaded our luggage and pulled out the spare, only to find that there wasn't a jack. Sara confirmed with her husband, since it was his car, that no, he might not have a jack after all. Oops. So there we were, stranded miles from the nearest town and hundreds of miles from home. Sara pulled out her phone to call her insurance, leaning into the car to try to hear over the noise of vehicles whizzing past us at 75+ miles per hour.  I began to put our luggage back in the trunk when a truck pulled up and a man got out and asked if we needed help. He said he had a jack, and in a moment he was lying on the pavement setting up the jack and working to take off the bad tire. I had two thoughts: he was our Good Samaritan, and just like the man from the parable, he was the kind of helping hand one might not expect.

The stranger wore a black shirt which read 'Let the bad times roll', a snakeskin belt with a skull, and was tattooed all over. They were grim tattoos, with demons, skulls, and words like blood overlaying images of muscle and sinew. He was an intimidating man - until he looked at my sister and I and sincerely, earnestly offered his help.

 I tried to offer him a towel to be a cushion from the rough pavement but he said he was fine. I stood by helplessly as he worked on changing the tire. Ultimately, he wasn't able to get us on our way: the spare was too flat to do any good. However, he left his jack with us.
"I have another one, this one is old anyway," he said. We thanked him and he got in his truck to leave. A moment later he came back, asking if we needed any water or food while we waited for a tow truck. We told him we'd be fine and he nodded, leaving for real this time. Eventually another truck stopped and two men with an air compressor were able to fill up our tire and get us on our way. My sister and I were thankful for the help from all three men who came our way, though I especially won't be forgetting the first one, the tattooed Good Samaritan who stopped and helped and gave. Wherever you are, thank you. I hope I can pay your good deed forward soon.

Selfish/Selfless

I am a part-time nanny of twin 16-month-old girls. Children, I think, are not only the pinnacle of innocence but of the deepest selfishness. When children want something they don't just ask for it, they reach for it frantically, crying out, all their focus and effort streamlined onto the one thing they want in that one moment. If they don't get their way they scream and flail themselves around. I've been hit and kicked, even bitten, by children who instantly turned into monsters because they couldn't have their way. They feel emotions at the purest level: no filter, no radar for what is socially acceptable, no understanding of anything except what they want. To them, the world revolves solely around me, me, me.

I think that if we could, every person would stay in that exclusive bubble. Instead, the world forces us to consider others. We can be obnoxiously selfish but the world will dislike, even punish, us for it. To live in good society, one must learn to share. One must care about others desires and needs. It makes perfect sense. It just doesn't come naturally.

The twins I nanny like to take toys away from each other. One will have something and, more often than not, the other will decide that she needs the same toy and will attempt to take it from her sister. The twin who first had the toy will cry in distress or frustration. I'm constantly trying to explain to these toddlers, who are still learning how to speak, the concepts of sharing and being nice. They are wonderful girls: affectionate, smart, silly, and loving. But their natural instincts are simply for themselves above all else. That's why what happened the other day was so remarkable.

The girls had just woken up from their nap. I was changing one, Ally, when she began to make the sign for 'water' and say "Www, www."
"We'll get water in just a minute," I replied, glancing over at the table when two sippy cups sat.
A minute later, while I was finishing changing Ally, the other twin, Elly, came around the corner of the couch. Her big blue eyes gave me a sort of questioning look. Then, she stepped towards her sister and handed her a sippy cup. She had heard Ally ask for water, and had fetched it for her. It was probably the sweetest, most unselfish thing I had ever seen them do.

If man's nature was to be good then a toddler being attentive to her sister and lovingly bringing her water would be the norm. Instead, our nature has to be molded from the start, tempered away from the instinct to care only for ourselves and to throw a fit if we don't get our way. We have to be trained to give, to be selfless. Of course we want to believe, like Anne Frank, that there is good in everyone's hearts. I believe that there is the ability to be good in everyone's hearts, but that to act on that ability, to live that way, is a struggle. It goes against our nature. We can't read other people's thoughts and emotions. We have to learn to study them and react accordingly so we can try to live in harmony with other people. It can be a difficult tune to play. So worth it, of course. When Elly brought Ally the water, I believe that Elly had joy in giving just as much as Ally had joy in receiving, much more so than any time they swiped the other's toy or fought to have exclusive attention. I think that it's something we have to be reminded about again and again. We have to tune the instruments of our lives to the sound of selflessness. Not just because of society: after all, wouldn't most parents tell their children to return punches and look out for themselves at all costs if this one life was all they had and the self-centered desires all that ruled anyone's hearts? Instead, I believe in turning the other cheek and loving your neighbor. I believe that though man is sinful and selfish, there is a God who loves us and wants more for us and from us. I can't live to just please myself. I am meant to care for the rest of God's creation around me. Too often I don't lift my focus from the scope of my own self, which is a very sad thing. When I catch a glimpse of what a selfless world would be like, even through a moment between two toddlers, it is beautiful and convicting. We live in a me-obsessed world, and it is only through grace that we can sincerely be any different. A child can learn right from wrong. But as to why we should live it out, why it matters for our lives and our souls, is a heavenly music we must daily tell our consciences not to ignore.

Wildflowers and wild heart

It may not officially be spring for a few more days, but it's spring in Texas. Green grass and leaves are bursting forth, flowers are blooming and the sun is shining gladly. We may not be fully out of the drought - there is still a long way to go before the lakes are back to their normal level - but the rain showers that have come our way have been received by the ground with joy. The thirsty earth shows its thanks with wildflowers.

Texas is a land which endures much and bounces back with exuberance. Just a little rain and the grass turns green again. The bluebonnets appear and everyone stops to admire and take pictures. The little things are beautiful. The whole of the place is lovely in strength and tenacity.

I love the land I'm from. I love to travel and see other places, and there may be other places I'd like to live someday, but I am happy that Texas is my homeland. The history is rich, the music and films are diverse, and the people are strong and welcoming. To say that I am a native Texan is something I'm proud of, and I hope its character - that rugged, wild beauty - rubs off on me.

Makes for a good story, anyway

I was reading in Starbucks, when I overheard the following story from two elderly men sitting at the table next to mine:


Storyteller: "I have a friend who lives in the country, and one night he saw two men breaking into his tool shed. He called the police and asked them to come apprehend the robbers. In response he was told that there weren't enough men at the station to send anyone over at the time. He was hung up on. The man waited a minute or so then called the police station back. He said, 'I just wanted you to know it's okay now, I shot those two men who were breaking in and stealing.' A few minutes later half the police force had arrived at his door. The officers demanded to know where the robbers were. The man pointed outside to the shed. 'There's the two thieves', he replied calmly. The officers said, 'I thought you said you shot them!' The man said, 'I thought you said you didn't have anyone to send over.'
Both men chuckled. The storyteller said, "Makes for a good story anyway."

Orphaned Fear

Rip a little corner off the darkness
Just to shine a light in the middle of it all
 - Matt Kearney, song - 'All I Have'



Fear
slips quietly into the room
You turn around and
BAM
there it is (wearing black)

Maybe you caught a scent of it
maybe you felt a tingle
But once it's there it's hard to banish
It lingers like an unwanted house guest
making you uncomfortable in your own home
in your own skin

It's the fastest of foes
You can't run from it
for there it will be, ever over your shoulder
Instead you have to face it
fight it
take it head on
Make the fear afraid of you

So
I will make orphans of all my fears
None to go before them, and none left behind them
So that they,
on their own,
must all perish
As quietly as they arrived they will quietly cease to be