“Kindness is a language that the
deaf can hear and the blind can see.” – Mark Twain
_
I put
my purple vest on, embroidered with “Jesus
is Lord” and stepped onto the street to minister to the homeless. The unclean
smells and dirty concrete was all I saw, at first. Rubbish crowded the sidewalk
and smoke crowded the air. It was a place of desperation, reeking of
hopelessness, and stale ambition. Then, in between the withering trees, I saw
people. Men and women carrying sacks, their entire belongings. Their faces were
enough – death had robbed them of life and purpose and promise, and the only
thing dragging them forward was a drug. What a terrible place to be, so eager
for rescue but so unknowing of their escape, their salvation. Homeless and
hopeless – these were the sorrowful words tattooed on that part of town.
I came
towards a man, who was holding a paper cup of coffee, which I observed as the
only neat part of his rumpled appearance. He was leaning against a brick wall,
reading a day old paper, pretending to be fine. We both knew he was not, so I stepped into depths of
discomfort, and made simple conversation. The offer of a church service with a
free meal afterwards did not lift him away from the curb, and as he shakily
walked away to get more coffee, I wondered at how enticing a little white
building would be in a world where you’ve only known sadness. I wonder.
The next
man I walked towards agreed for prayer, as his leather jacket did not suggest. With half of my hand but
all of my heart, I did my best to encourage him, which was, at that point,
smiling a Jesus smile while my friend prophesied kind words over him. He soon drifted away,
uncertainty following him down the street, and I again wondered at where he was
going and why he would not come back, to the only church on
the street.
Something
burst inside me, and tears began to streak my bare face. It was too much, to
see pain consuming God’s beloved, like a disease that has no right to spoil
such pure creation. I was overwhelmed and desperate to change it but unable to
express the Good News in any other way than a soft smile. A lengthy handshake,
a gentle wave. I hurriedly wiped my tears away, to join my friends and a
homeless man they were already ministering to. Right then they asked if they could pray
for him, and it was his response that slightly ripped my heart apart.
This
man had been through hell. Left alone, abandoned, a reject. He had seen death
brush by him, and seen it breath upon others. No hope, no rest, no love. He was
covered in clouds of smoke and given not the fresh air he needed to breathe.
Sorrow, sadness, and suffering. He lived in fear and fake comfort that would
disappear repeatedly and unannounced. A broken family, a crippling community,
and no knowledge of a love that never
ends.
And yet
when they asked to pray for him, he replied: “Nah, I think you should pray for
the girl over there. She’s cryin, ya know. Can’t help but notice it, you gotta
help the people that are cryin.”
_
There was
something about his reply that made me weep for hours afterwards, and I think
it was this: His love is not given to us by
how ‘deserving’ we feel // it is a free gift // and all we have to do is say
yes.
mads x
This made me cry so much. I feel everything you have put on here. Seeing homeless people all the time has never made me feel immune to the sadness I feel when I see them. More than food ,water and shelter they need eternal salvation where those things are also provided in abundance additionally to being in the light, love and comfort of the true lord and savior. Only being 19 I used to think there was not much I could do other than hand a dollar here and there but this post just externalizes all of my feelings about how God is the only one who can shine a light in that dark cloud of despair.
ReplyDeleteI am so glad I read this.
God bless,
Eden.
Oh my goodness!! You have such a compassionate heart! What a lovely comment xx
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