He walked with firm determination, not looking at anyone, and went straight to the customer service desk. I robotically walked toward the grocery aisles, but couldn't help myself from watching his progress. When I saw him stand at the end of the long line at the customer service desk, I absently turned my cart and walked towards the men clothing section. I glanced around to see if there were any denim pants with flannel lining, glancing up to see if the man was still waiting in line. How would I know what size to get? Then I glanced at my children and was reminded of the ticking bomb as we approached nap-time. I felt torn.
Over the course of the minute since I saw him, I had gone through dozens of scenarios on how to approach this man and offer whatever service I could. I was also going over everything I knew of this small town community and realizing I didn't know of a single shelter or homeless service.
I decided to collect my short list of groceries first, then try to catch him in the customer service area and ask him if I could gift him a new pair of pants. I didn't know what else to do. Unfortunately when I returned to the front of the store he was no where in sight.
Later that week, a woman in my church was presenting a talk about relying on the Lord through trials. She shared with the congregation that during the economic crash of 2008 she had been evicted from her home and lived for a year in a tent by a river. I was completely transfixed by her story. I had talked with her and spent time with her daughter, but I didn't know they had gone through such a rough year. My thoughts returned to the man I saw in Walmart and I wondered how long he had been without a home. I wondered about his family and his history, and my heart ached. Maybe this was his one rough year in transition, but it had cost him dearly.
Since moving to Jonesville, I have complained a lot about my house, and the blogosphere hasn't even heard the half of it. This winter has been so brutal that I have felt imprisoned in this house many days. But my feelings have softened toward it. From the depths of my heart I am so grateful for this house. I am so grateful to have a functioning heater and enough space for my kids to run. I'm so grateful for the faucets with warm and cold water any time of day. I'm so grateful for protection from the bitter, bitter cold winds that bite at my skin and the piles and piles of snow. I'm so grateful for electricity, and lights, and big windows! In spite of it's partly dilapidated state, there's beautiful old house charm in the craft of this house. I'd rather be imprisoned in this paradise compared to the confines of a tent during windchills well below zero.
Many of our doorknobs are beautiful glass antiques. |
Today we are in the midst of another arctic blast. The windchill when I woke up was -20, the temperature -8. I can't help but think of that homeless man. I've thought of him often since I saw him. I wish I had just followed my gut and bought the pants and given them to him before I hesitated. I wish I could've bought him much more. I hope some day when presented with a similar scenario I'm given a chance to try again.