When we moved to a college town a few years ago, we discovered a few unexpected details about a small city that simply aren't true of the tiny towns we had lived in up to that point. We discovered that being able to walk to the store or to work of to church is even better than we expected it would be. We discovered that each little neighborhood in our new city has a personality of its own. And we discovered that here, unlike anywhere we'd ever lived, there was a significant homelessness problem.
Sinve we live very very close to the center of town, we sometimes have homeless people come by our house and knock on our door. They're usually looking to do odd jobs around the yard to make a little money to get them through the day. Several different people have come to us over the last couple of years, and they have always been respectful and polite. They've never asked to come inside. They've never asked for handouts, only for work. But it's clear that they're struggling.
One of the men men who has come by a few times is a fellow I will call Ed, to avoid using his real name. Ed is a quiet, soft-spoken fellow. He is contrite and always asks if we have any odd jobs he can do to earn a little money. Ed is missing several teeth, and rides a bicycle with a few canvas bags strapped to it. Presumably they hold all his worldly possessions. We always ask him, "Have you found a place to stay yet?" and he always replies that he hasn't. We've referred him to churches and shelters, but they never seem to offer permanent solutions. Recently, Ed came by the house one morning when I was at home, and I answered the door.
I feel I should take a moment here to clarify that Ed's visits are not frequent. He seems to drop by only once every six to eight weeks or so. He isn't constantly at our door. But occasionally he does come by, and when he does, we try to do what we can for him.
That morning, I was the one to come to the door. Ed asked me, as always, if I had any odd jobs around the yard he could do. "I really need some money, but I'll work for it! I'll work!" But that day, I simply didn't have any money. Like most people these days, I do all of my purchasing with my debit cards. I just don't keep cash. I told him this, and I asked, "What do you need? Are you hungry right now?"
Ed was indeed hungry. And Ed needed something else too. He needed socks. I looked down at his feet and saw that he wore heavy leather work boots. Yes, this man needs to wear socks. So I went inside. I made him a turkey sandwich. I packed up some canned fruit and some cereal bars to hopefully get him through the rest of the day. I grabbed a pair of socks from my drawer. I took the modest haul outside to Ed, saying, "These aren't new, but they're clean. Is that ok?" He responded politely, "Oh, yes, sir. That's just fine!" And I handed over the food.
Ed looked into the bag and asked, "I'm really hungry now, do you mind if I just sit here and eat this sandwich now?" I told him that would be fine and invited him to sit on my front porch to get started on his lunch while I went inside to get him a glass of water to wash it down with. When I returned with the water, I had a question for him. "Do you mind if I join you out here while you eat?" He smiled broadly, saying, "No, go ahead!" I took my place next to him.
We talked lest a little. We sat in silence a little. We don't have much in common, this man and me. But we're both human beings, and it was good to be sitting on the front porch with another human, enjoying the spring sunshine. I gave some things to Ed that day, but he gave something back. He didn't weed my flower beds or wash my cars. But he sat with me, on my porch on a warmer than usual day and shared those moments with me.
The next time I saw Ed, he was riding his bike through the park. He smiled at me, greeted me and the baby (who was strapped to chest) and said something silly to the dog as he rode by. I like to think those few moments in the sunshine meant something to him, too.
Sinve we live very very close to the center of town, we sometimes have homeless people come by our house and knock on our door. They're usually looking to do odd jobs around the yard to make a little money to get them through the day. Several different people have come to us over the last couple of years, and they have always been respectful and polite. They've never asked to come inside. They've never asked for handouts, only for work. But it's clear that they're struggling.
One of the men men who has come by a few times is a fellow I will call Ed, to avoid using his real name. Ed is a quiet, soft-spoken fellow. He is contrite and always asks if we have any odd jobs he can do to earn a little money. Ed is missing several teeth, and rides a bicycle with a few canvas bags strapped to it. Presumably they hold all his worldly possessions. We always ask him, "Have you found a place to stay yet?" and he always replies that he hasn't. We've referred him to churches and shelters, but they never seem to offer permanent solutions. Recently, Ed came by the house one morning when I was at home, and I answered the door.
I feel I should take a moment here to clarify that Ed's visits are not frequent. He seems to drop by only once every six to eight weeks or so. He isn't constantly at our door. But occasionally he does come by, and when he does, we try to do what we can for him.
That morning, I was the one to come to the door. Ed asked me, as always, if I had any odd jobs around the yard he could do. "I really need some money, but I'll work for it! I'll work!" But that day, I simply didn't have any money. Like most people these days, I do all of my purchasing with my debit cards. I just don't keep cash. I told him this, and I asked, "What do you need? Are you hungry right now?"
Ed was indeed hungry. And Ed needed something else too. He needed socks. I looked down at his feet and saw that he wore heavy leather work boots. Yes, this man needs to wear socks. So I went inside. I made him a turkey sandwich. I packed up some canned fruit and some cereal bars to hopefully get him through the rest of the day. I grabbed a pair of socks from my drawer. I took the modest haul outside to Ed, saying, "These aren't new, but they're clean. Is that ok?" He responded politely, "Oh, yes, sir. That's just fine!" And I handed over the food.
Ed looked into the bag and asked, "I'm really hungry now, do you mind if I just sit here and eat this sandwich now?" I told him that would be fine and invited him to sit on my front porch to get started on his lunch while I went inside to get him a glass of water to wash it down with. When I returned with the water, I had a question for him. "Do you mind if I join you out here while you eat?" He smiled broadly, saying, "No, go ahead!" I took my place next to him.
We talked lest a little. We sat in silence a little. We don't have much in common, this man and me. But we're both human beings, and it was good to be sitting on the front porch with another human, enjoying the spring sunshine. I gave some things to Ed that day, but he gave something back. He didn't weed my flower beds or wash my cars. But he sat with me, on my porch on a warmer than usual day and shared those moments with me.
The next time I saw Ed, he was riding his bike through the park. He smiled at me, greeted me and the baby (who was strapped to chest) and said something silly to the dog as he rode by. I like to think those few moments in the sunshine meant something to him, too.
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