Icing On the Cake

 Today as I happened to look out the office door toward the Paxton’s Blessing Box we have next to our church building, I saw a man looking at, and taking some of what I had put in the box awhile ago.  I don’t always do this, but today decided that I’d go out and try to have some interaction with him.  Sometimes, that works.  Sometimes, I am ignored.  Other times the conversation is very guarded and short.  And sometimes it’s impossible to have a conversation with a person due to their mental illness.

Sensing that he was homeless, primarily due to his appearance, I watched as he carefully looked over what was in the box and had taken some of it.  He didn’t see me approach him.

I stopped about 20 feet away from him, for safety, and asked, “Do you have what you need?”  He turned, looked at me, and gave a sort of universal visual response that he didn’t understand what I said.  I moved a bit closer, thinking he may have been hearing impaired, and asked the question again.  He seemed a bit flustered when I asked the second time, but regained his composure and said that he was fine.

Sensing that he was amenable to visiting for a bit, and knowing I hadn’t put any water in the box, I asked if he needed water, and that we had some inside.  He said he could use some water.  I told him to hang out for a minute while I got some water.  I went inside, found a bottle of water along with a bottle of Gatorade, went back out, and said he could have either one or both.  He took both.

He then asked if we had socks or a T-shirt.  I said we didn’t have shirts, but I would go in and look for socks, knowing that we had some.  I found a new pair of socks, went back outside, and gave them to him.

This started a bigger conversation about his inability to get a valid identification.  I think he sensed that I was genuinely interested in his plight, and the words just seemed to cascade from him as he recounted his so-far futile efforts over the past several years to obtain a government ID.  I think, as with many of these people, he needed someone willing to listen, even if for just a couple of minutes, to what he had to say.  And, if what he said is even partly true, he is caught in a bureaucratic nightmare of stolen identification, several attempts by others to obtain his ID for themselves by fraud, his inability to access any information about his ID due to the information being locked down by the State because of the theft and fraud attempts, and no one who provides services who will or can help him navigate the bureaucratic maze.

He is eligible, if he had a valid ID, for food assistance, rent assistance, Social Security assistance, and other services.  Without the ID, however, all of the services he otherwise would qualify for are beyond his reach.  So, he’s on the street.

I asked our office manager if she knew who helped with ID.  The Salvation Army no longer helps with ID.  The Red Cross no longer helps with ID.  Center of Hope and Open Door do not provide assistance, according to this man.  I called 211 and got the information on another non-profit that the operator said helped with ID.  I gave it to the man, who took off right away for the address I had been given.  I told him I didn’t know this organization and wasn’t sure they could help.  He said, “Hey, it’s a lead,” and went on his way.

One thing I haven’t yet said about this encounter.  Somewhere between my first question asking him if he had what he needed, and telling him about a possible contact for help with his identification, he said this to me.  “You know, I have never had anyone ask me if I had what I needed.  Thank you.”

Yes, we were able to provide him with some food and water.  Yes, we gave him some socks.  And yes, we were able to give him a possible lead on his identification difficulty.  But I think what really counted…what really mattered to him was my question of asking him if he had what he needed.  That interaction…that question…immediately told him that I saw him as a human being, deserving of the dignity and respect that goes with being human.  It told him that I didn’t see him as homeless trash, a lazy, good-for-nothing, or a bleeding, open sore on society.

And let me say this as well…I’m nothing special.  I use that same question on many homeless at the Blessing Box who I choose to try to have interaction with.  It’s just a good way, I think, to pretty much immediately “size up” the person while keeping safety and physical distance in mind.  And, I’ve found that by far most of the people who are on the street will interact with me…will be cordial…will after a moment let their own guard down a bit…and will appreciate the brief conversation.

I know it can be daunting to try to make this kind of connection.  I’ve been working on it for over ten years, and at times still feel inadequate.  But it’s well worth the effort…especially when the church is involved, as we are here at RiverWalk.  I hold no illusion that I will see him at Sunday services or have a conversion as a result of our interaction.  But hopefully, I have given him a somewhat different and much better opinion of church, religion, and religious people by this brief encounter.

I truly hope and pray this man is able to get his identification and get on with life.  And I hope he stops by in a few months to show me his ID.  THAT would be icing on the cake.

 

Blessings.