We meet in the foyer to the building where I work. She’s about my height and has short brown hair, like me. She clutches a large textbook and keeps tapping her foot. No name tag, I notice. It’s safe to assume she doesn’t work here but had instead been in one of the local agencies’ offices.
Together, we look at the ever-increasing rain.
“It’s really coming down,” she says.
“Sure is.” I’m on my way to lunch. I have a small umbrella, but it’s no match for the weather.
“I’m headed to Northwest Hospital. I have a job but I’m taking the bus.”
I smile at her, reassuring her that I’m not judgmental. And I make a snap decision. My gut tells me it’s okay.
“Come on, I’ll give you a ride,” I say. The bus stop is only two blocks away.
“Thanks!”she exclaims, and follows me out to my car.
“What do you do at Northwest?” I ask after pulling out of the parking lot.
“I’m manager of the coffee shop. My husband and I went through a rough period a while back and lived in a motel. But we’re doing good now.”
I glance at her book. “Are you in classes, too?”
“No, I’m almost through with this program–” she gestures toward the building we just left–“where I have to check in weekly. But I want to take classes and become an X-ray technician.”
I nod. She’s so eager to tell me about her life, both her unpleasant past and future hopes. I wonder how many people she can talk to–people who won’t condemn her or make her feel less than human because she’d once been homeless.
Do I judge her? I ask myself. Every weekday morning, I walk into my job with a refugee resettlement agency and pass by numerous homeless folks. Some of them are mentally ill and can’t hold a job. Others need guidance or assistance from the social service providers in the building. But every person has a story.
It hits me as Lisa talks: in the three months I’ve been working at CFS, I haven’t stopped to really engage anyone. I smile and say, “hello,” but I keep my distance.
If I’m honest, I have to admit I’m afraid. Afraid I won’t know what to say. Afraid of–what? That their neediness will rub off on me? Maybe. I tend to justify my actions because the work I’m doing helps folks who haven’t had a home in years. Some have spent whole lifetimes in refugee camps and have seen the horrors of genocide, rape and starvation firsthand.
I wonder what horrors Lisa has seen. Plenty, I’m sure. And I wonder, what situations have I escaped because I have my relatives–both sides–as a loving safety net? Because I had the good fortune to be born middle class? To have a college education paid for by a generous family?
As I glance in Lisa’s direction, she moves her hand. I can see now that she’s holding a Beth Moore volume on Paul. I pull up to the bus station. “Here we are.”
“Thanks for the ride,” she says. I notice her hot pink purse. It’s my favorite color.
“You’re welcome. By the way, Beth Moore’s my favorite.”
“I love her!” she says, getting out.Β “I’ve done all her studies.”
She shuts the door and walks off.
Me too, I think. Me too.
By Dena Dyer, Mother Inferior.
You have me crying with this one, Dena. Beautiful, beautiful post. You remind me to look past the simple “hello” and into the hearts of those who cross my path. LOVED this.
Thanks for your kind words, Kristen, and taking time to leave them. It was a wake-up call to me, for sure. If we all saw into hearts as Jesus did, the world would be so much better!
loved seeing you here today…and yes, i need to stop more, listen more, engage more… so glad you gave into your senses and welcomed her in…
Melissa, good to see you too! π I’m glad I let her in, too. I’ve learned so much by being around the “least of these” more in my new job. They’re all people with feelings…I tend to forget that and put labels on them.
Dena! It’s so wonderful to see you here.
I am so very grateful for the work that you do with refugees. You give them a voice. The homeless and the hurting right here in our country. Those who escape oppression on foreign soil, and oppression under their very own roofs. Thank you for advocating, for loving. Thank you for caring so deeply.
Deidra, you’re such a sweetheat! Being your roomie at Laity was the impetus for me checking out (in)courage and knowing that I could even submit a piece to them. So THANK YOU! π
I love, love, love my job. It’s as if I’d been in training for years without knowing it. It’s incredibly challenging and rewarding at the same time.
HUGS!
What a beautiful post, Dena. This morning you reminded me that everyone has a story. Taking the time to engage with someone and listen to a little bit of their story can help both people. Thank you for the wonderful work you do.
Thanks, Katie. God used this beautiful woman to remind me of that, too. π I’m so thankful that the editors here allowed me to share MY story!
Thank you.
You’re welcome. I was honored to share here on (in)courage.
Good reminder to always look beyond. . .
Amy, it’s been convicting for me to be around more homeless folks and refugees, because I come face to face with my tendency to put people in boxes.
[…] This post was mentioned on Twitter by icwhimsy, Deidra. Deidra said: Homeless Like Me http://bit.ly/ebWX9H // My @thehighcalling friend, @denadyer is guest posting today at @incourage […]
Great reminder to not judge someone by their looks, or circumstances. You just never know where they are or where they’ve been in life.
I know of a wonder woman who became a Methodist preacher, and ran a social agency through the church to help homeless people. I often wondered how she could have such a big hear. The answer surprised me. She, herself, had been homeless living out of a car.
Thanks for the reminder!!
Wow, Beth, what a cool story! Thanks for sharing that. Blessings!
Hi Dena! Got here via “Holy Experience”. Your article is fabulous and has such a wonderful lesson for all! Miss seeing you in F’burg but I can see why God needed you in the panhandle! Love to you and your family!
Thanks, Betty. π I miss my friends in Fburg and of course the Rockbox gang. But God has truly affirmed our move in many ways. Good to see you here!
Oh Dena! It’s nice to see you here since I know you from HCB:) I absolutely love this story…wanting to write of a homeless couple we met on our way back home…had so many of the same thoughts…thankfully the wife initiated with me (as it seems like Lisa did too) and God melted my stony reluctance through my husband’s generosity…they were believers and Jesus really shone in them too! Just a tough set of circumstances…how often is this the case??
Thanks again for sharing:):):)
Abby, thanks for the nice words. It’s good to see my HCB here as well! I hope you’ll write that story. I’d love to read it. When you do, please let me know.
Dena, I don’t know how many men you have reading things like this, but I do subscribe to in(courage), and have been blessed and encouraged so many times!
But this kind of openness, into our own often shortcomings in really seeing the people around us, is what I like.
So much pain and suffering, so much need, and inner crying for help and attention, someone to listen, someone to just recognize their existence…
I know that you cannot be friends to all those you contact in your line of work, but the Spirit can guide you to the right ones, not that they are not all important, but you are only one, π .
God bless you.
David Cary.
David, I’m so glad you subscribe and made time to comment here. I do pray that God guides me into the conversations and relationships He wants me to have. π Thanks for the (in)courage-ment!
My husband and I run/serve/minister in a residential recovery program where many of the men have been homeless for periods of time. I understand the emotional distance we often keep. It’s not from fear something will “rub off” but the fear what we offer will not “fix” the issues that plague them. But our hope, like yours, continues becaue we know the one that is hope. Thanks for being open in your writing. Great post.
You’re right, Deborah–sometimes it’s a fear that we can’t meet such a huge need. And, like you, I’m soooo glad we know the One who CAN meet it! Blessings on you and your important work.
Congrats on the post, and thanks for sharing! An important reminder we all need to hear. I feel exactly the same way about the privilege of being able to give my kids a good education. There are SO many children in our district who struggle without the support that our family has enjoyed for generations. It’s easy to judge the “underachievers” in our school as long as I don’t bear in mind the “there but for grace” aspect of it all. Hope to read more!
Thanks so much, Pam. You’re right–a good education is something to be extremely grateful for.
[…] fro Mother Inferior considered what her life might be like if she didn’t have the safety net of a stable family at […]
Dean, What a grace-filled, beautiful, honest story. I love that you bare your soul here — your insecurities and fears. I am nodding my head as I read along.
You have a simple but beautiful way with words. What a blessing!
Thanks, Michelle. You really blessed me today. I always love reading YOUR writing, and so your comments are doubly encouraging!
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