2007 Distribution

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The day was clear and beautiful as is often the case in Florida. I understood that Florida had the lion’s share when it comes to the homeless. Of course, the weather and the warmth is a considerable factor when you spend your life out of doors. I never had an appreciation for that fact since I always had a roof over my head, shoes on my feet, and had never experienced real cold weather conditions. I didn’t even see snow until I was in my forties except for the time it snowed in Florida back in the early 1970’s. So, Florida to me has always been warm but I never realized how important that warmth is to those who live on the streets and sleep in patches of woods calling a plastic bag or a tent, if they’re lucky, home. It was from one of these invisible people that I received a real wake up call about life, appreciation, and God.

             The scrawny old man wouldn’t take the sleeping bag I handed to him. Curious about what was going on, he had walked up to the van where I was handing out the bags. He shook his head and said that he already had one. “Just give the one in your hand to someone else who needs it more,” he said to me with a smile that showed teeth badly in need of attention.

            It surprised me that someone who looked like he did with his worn flannel shirt and trousers that were too big for him held up by a belt meant for a much larger man would turn away such a gift. After all, these sleeping bags were brand new, never out of their package and yet he refused the gift.

            I had read recommendations by others who worked with the homeless and was warned to be careful of whom I gave the bags. There would be homeless people trying to get multiple bags so they could sell them for money. Sometimes they would try to get bags they didn’t need to trade for items they needed between other homeless people in their ‘camp’. I wasn’t sure why this was a bad thing since the studies that have been done regarding the homeless show that only about 14% of the homeless stay on the streets due to a drug or alcohol addiction. Still, the object of the charity I was assisting was to get sleeping bags to those who didn’t have anything to keep them warm as the colder days in Florida were soon to be upon us.

            The little old man who had refused the bag I offered turned and walked several yards away and continued to watch the many number of men and women who asked for a bag. Some of them indeed tried to secure more than one bag, as if it were for someone else who was unable to come to the location where they were fed 3 days a week. And yet, it was difficult telling them that we could only give 1 bag per person. The old man lit up a cigarette he pulled from his shirt pocket, still watching the goings on. “Small enjoyments,” I thought as I watched him draw slowly on the cigarette.

            After a while the commotion for the bags died down. Our group was there with another organization, T.H.O.R.N. Ministries, who regularly fed several groups of homeless people in the south eastern section of Tampa. We followed them because they already had a following of people that came regularly to be fed. They assured us that there would be plenty of people there who needed what we had to give. And they were right.

            As the homeless started to gather near where the food was to be distributed, I walked over to the little old man who had been standing only a few yards away smoking his cigarette. He looked like someone’s grandpa as the sun shone down on the wrinkled brown skin of his face. He seemed happy. My mind had a hard time grasping that someone, like him, could be happy given his poverty stricken living conditions.

            I asked him as I continued drawing near, “Do you come here often?”

            “Every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday!” he exclaimed. “Sometimes it’s the only meals I get in a week if I can’t find any work.”

            “What do you do?” I inquired further.

            “Whatever anyone will let me do. I don’t really care much what it is. I got a strong back.”

            “So, do you like the food?” I questioned.

            “Oh yeah,” he grinned. “Sometimes they even hand out bags for lunch the next day which is really nice ‘cause you can hang onto it and eat when you feel hungry instead of when someone will feed you.”

            Looking over at the food I began to have a real appreciation for all those school lunches I had growing up. Even hospital food seemed more appealing. Everyone eating though was grateful saying ‘thank you’ to the volunteers handing out the plates.
            Some of the people would gather in groups of 3 or 4 but mostly people sat alone or with only 1 other person. Maybe they didn’t know each other. Maybe they didn’t really have a camp like the girl scouts or boy scouts. Maybe their camp was simply out of necessity and no one really made friends with anyone. I thought, surely these people know one another. How many camps could there be? Every time I pass a patch of woods anywhere in town now, I know the answer to that question is, ‘more than we know’.

            In WWII my mother lived in Germany. Her home was bombed and she fled in the middle of the night with her mother, father, and brother to get to the border between east & west Germany so they wouldn’t get caught behind the Iron Curtain. She said that the everyday working class people of Germany did not really know what was going on regarding the Jewish death camps. They believed the propaganda that their Jewish friends were just being relocated to an area where they could grow and prosper with others of their own beliefs. It was not until the end of the war that they found out what Hitler and the Nazi party were doing.

            It was hard to believe this when my mother told me about it. Yet, here, 40 years later, I see that I have lived in a city all my life and never knew how many of the people were homeless. How could I be so naïve? Did the sale papers and my own encapsulated life shield me or did it do something much worse? I was at best apathetic to their conditions cleaning out a closet on occasion and patting myself on the back that someone at a thrift store would benefit from being able to buy old clothes for pennies. Mom’s story no longer seemed so unbelievable to me.

            The old man looked at me and said, “It’s a real nice thing what you all did today with the sleeping bags and all. But I was wondering…” his voice trailed off for a minute as if he were embarrassed to ask his question. “Do you by any chance have any shoes to give away?”

            I looked down at his shoes for the first time. They were old worn work boots with one of the soles held on with duct tape. How did I miss that earlier?

            “I would really love it if someone had some shoes sometime. I don’t care what size. Maybe even a pair of socks to go with them would be nice.” The socks were threadbare on top. I was sure there was a hole or two in them.

            The old man continued his train of thought, “I guess I don’t have much right to ask for anything. God takes real good care of me. After all, I get fed kind of regular. I don’t go hungry too often. And I got a warm place to sleep in some pretty woods near here.” He smiled as he seemed to be reflecting on his good fortune. “Yeah, God has blessed me. New shoes would be nice though,” he chuckled.

            I was transformed. I saw what some people consider an ugly truth – homeless people messing up a perfectly good city – and yet, the homeless man standing there as the example of this riff-raff showed me the beauty of gratitude to God for the simplest of things in life. I put my arms around the man’s neck and hugged him.

            “Thank you,” I said, “for letting me share some of your space. It’s been an honor and a privilege to be here today with you. I wish there were more I could do.”

            The old man smiled widely again. “You’ve done plenty,” he said, “More than most.”

            I knew he was stating a simple truth. There was no judgment in his voice, only gratitude.

            It’s been said that angels walk the earth in forms that humans do not expect. Maybe this man was an angel. Maybe he was a man who deserved to be where he was. Maybe he was a man that just had a run of bad luck. In my mind he is a man that in a few short moments taught me to be grateful for all I had, to enjoy the small pleasures, and to be ever mindful of the needs of others as I receive the abundance that life has to offer me.

Maybe he really was an angel because when he hugged me back it was like being in the arms of God. It was nothing like I ever imagined. His scruffy unshaven face was soft. He was gentle as a lamb. He smelled like fresh air.

Life is what we perceive. Be willing to see. There are so many who have so little. Won’t you buy just 1 sleeping bag and send it to HelpKeepWarm.org.  The life you touch may be your own. 

by Reverend Roxanne Wilson, M.S.S.
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     For Spiritual Growth.