The Gift

There are seasons in life that I look back on and wonder, how did I ever get to that place? It leaves me asking… if I could go back, what would I tell my younger self?

One of those seasons overtook me years ago. I had a job that had me working in a cubicle. Pounding away on a keyboard doing soulless production work as I stumbled my way through the professional world. It was marginally paying the bills so I took a lot of side jobs to keep a roof over our heads and food on our table. Painting houses in the evenings and weekends, now and then doing all-nighters. The stress I allowed into my life was crippling, I’d wake up in the middle of the night overwhelmed with the responsibility of raising a family and all that comes with it.

Needless to say I felt far from any intention I was born with. Far from my “heart” some might say. Furthermore I was around people who projected ease and success as if it were a birthright. I felt lost.

I had plenty to be grateful for, our home was filled with love and laughter, our kids were happy and growing in beautiful ways, oblivious (as all children should be) to the stresses of adulthood. We had bought our first house in the Ivywild neighborhood of Colorado Springs, a cool old Craftsman with a deep lot and a tree swing. Steph was busting it, giving the kids a loving healthy home.

Every now and then I dream about our kids at this age, perfect, pudgy and free.

It was in the midst of this swirl that I received a life-long gift. I was driving home after a forgettable day at work, South on highway 25 through Colorado Springs. I happened to glance toward the park by a footbridge while I was bombing down the road with all the other zombies. I saw movement and realized that I was looking at a homeless encampment. Tents, tarps, dogs and people. I had this strong impression that I should go back and talk with them. I had no idea what I would say. Honestly the notion scared me, I tried to shake it off and forget about it, but the thought kept nagging me.

When I got home Steph welcomed me with her perfect smile, homemade soup and fresh bread. The house smelled amazing, and had a beautiful sense of warmth and peace, home free. I still couldn’t shake this feeling that I should go back and talk with the folks at the encampment, I kept it to myself and hoped it would go away.

As I sat down for supper the phone rang and the woman on the line said “Angel? is this Angel?” I kindly told her she must have the wrong number and said good-bye. The irony of that call was too much to ignore. What little I know about angels is that they bring messages to people once in a while – messenger, is this messenger? I told Steph what I was thinking and she packed up the soup and bread and kissed me good-bye.

I was so nervous, which is hard to believe now. I drove up to the spot where I saw activity and pulled off the highway. As I made my way down a slight hill a few folks met me at the tall chain-linked fence between us. I handed the food over without saying anything and was given a broad-smiled thank you. I felt at ease immediately and asked what was going on, the police had given them a day to clear out all their gear and move on. It was clear this was going to be really hard on everyone involved. Not knowing what else I could offer I asked if I could pray for their move. Everyone in the camp, about 20 people, came up to the fence and I asked God to make their transition easy and to help them find a safe place. When I finished everyone thanked me and retreated to share their meal.

One guy stayed though, he came closer and asked if I’d pray for him specifically. David was his name and he was about my age. He said “I’m an addict, I have a family, I know better and I don’t need to be out here”. I prayed the best way I knew how. I apologized that I didn’t know how to help. He was so gracious and said he didn’t need any more than I’d given him. I wanted to put him in my car and bring him to a place where I knew he’d get help. But I didn’t know a place like that.

I tried to think of anyone… anyone that I may know that could help David move toward freedom and back to his family. I couldn’t come up with one person. My family and I had been active in our faith community for years, we knew a lot people and I came up empty. It stung. My faith seemed impotent to help real needs. David was a young dad with an addiction wanting to get back to his family and I had nothing to offer him. No name of a local caregiver, no knowledge of the resources he needed, no understanding of how to help him get off the street and back to his life. Nothing. I didn’t even know where to start or what questions to ask.

In that moment I saw myself… and I was empty handed.

As I turned back to my car I was pierced with deep clarity. I felt stripped to the core, exposed, flooded with emotion akin to indignation, embarrassment and anger. How could my ability to help be this small when the weight I’m shouldering seems so great? From this raw place I spoke the simplest prayer… God make me a person who knows how to help the Davids of the world.

I don’t want to seem overly dramatic here… what I experienced that night was pure.
The things that I believe and care about to my core were cast in perfect contrast to my apparent inability to carry them out.
I was laid bare and it was the gift.

I never wanted to be caught empty handed like this again. It still brings emotion.

I believe in that moment I was faced with a core tension that all of us carry, an unnamed fear that feels too big for us.
The fear of poverty.
Additionally, I believe we hope our personal struggles justify staying ignorant. Let’s be honest, the prospect of being around scary looking strangers is something we’d rather not think about. We hope the stories we tell ourselves about “them” will satisfy the quiet demands of justice. In this way we are robbed from the liberating promise that serving others holds.

The gift of that evening was the awakening, the people I encountered were familiar, no goblins or monsters, just people like me without a home. They were kind and brave and hopeful. They weren’t brutish or slobbering, they weren’t anything I might have feared they’d be. The mystery was shattered in a moment and my un-housed neighbors gave me the greatest gift possible. An invitation to become more whole, more myself, a mirror held up with a smile.

People of all backgrounds are experiencing poverty and others are trying to help, all day long, every day, day after day after day. It’s not complicated and it’s lifesaving to learn our part.

Why this world of poverty is a mystery, especially to people active in their faith now seems like insanity to me and a huge failure of our beliefs and our teachers.

What I would tell my younger self is this… run don’t walk to the nearest homeless shelter and learn how it works. You have all that it takes to operate in that world in redemptive ways. Learn how to partner with your un-housed neighbors in their pursuit of freedom (and housing). Be reflected by people who are incapable of playing the game of projecting success.

You can afford the time, what you can’t afford is to stay trapped by fear. Your children deserve to know their part as well.

I would tell him that the homeless shelter environment is where you will be exposed to all sorts of different resources within your community. While you’re there you may be drawn toward an organization offering legal representation for kids caught up in a family dispute, or find yourself offering a resume’ writing class. You may get your family volunteering at a clothing closet, a food pantry, a family shelter, whatever it is, the resource hub in our cities are the homeless shelters.

Take the first step and rest will follow.