Total Desperation

Have you ever noticed that every time you are down in the dumps about something, you seem to run into someone else who has it much worse than you?

Yeah...that happens to me, too.

Yesterday I learned that my request for a financial forbearance on my graduate loans through Citi-Bank was denied, for a really stupid reason. I saw that I had one day to pay my December bill before it doubled, so I robbed Peter to pay Paul, hoping Peter will be more forgiving than I expect. But at least Paul is 1/2 satisfied for now.

And I was in a panic - my account still shows that I am behind, and this is not a good thing. I don't understand how the bank thinks I'm going to be able to pay when what I told them before is still true; I simply don't make enough money to pay this loan right now. I'm looking for another job, I'm praying for a miracle, I'm looking for a way to satisfy the debt. In the meantime, I've paying my undergrad loan, but it means I have to "float" bills and pay them just in time for my next check to be deposited into the account. It doesn't take a genius to realize these are dangerous practices that only lead to disaster - and another huge monthly bill makes things even more precarious.

Unfortunately, what I just described is how a LOT of people are living these days. Others have already had the catastrophe of a dropped ball in that juggling act and are losing their cars, their homes....everything.

A Harsh Reminder

As hard as it is to be in this position, not wanting to ask for help, for after all, I GOT myself into this mess, I should suffer the consequences, right? I didn't HAVE to go to grad school and I knew when I began that I'd be leaving my well-paying job and taking on another...although I did not realize it was one that would increase my debt load, not keep it on an even keel.  Such is life.

Because of these and other thoughts, I was in quite the panic yesterday to realize I am officially in default on a grad loan, in spite of my attempt to keep that from happening.

Well, God had a reminder for me, and it happened while I was driving en route to my brother's house to celebrate his birthday.

An electronic freeway sign announced that the road I needed to take had a blocked left lane due to an accident. OK, fine. I know south Minneapolis quite well so got off at the 46th street exit.  The area has changed since I lived there; now there is a huge bus station there and panhandlers have taken over the area.

Living in the 'burbs as I do, I don't often see panhandlers but at the occasional exit ramp or stoplight if I happen to be going out of my way for some reason.

Yesterday, though, as I approaches the top of the exit, I saw a man holding a cardboard sign; it was bent and frayed on the edges and he dropped it to his side as he crossed in front of me to approach a car in the right lane. I slowed to ensure both he and I that he was in no danger of being struck by me as he received some kind of token. He took it from the driver; I did not see if it was food or money, it didn't matter. He returned to the sidewalk, glancing around at approaching traffic, and again held up his sign.

His hands were dirty; he wore no gloves, and I finally got a glimpse of the sign: 

"TOTAL DESPERATION"  

I didn't make eye contact with him as I was trying to read his sign; when I saw that message and the condition of his hands as he stood in the shadow of the urban sound barriers in 10 degrees, I was stricken.

Glancing towards the seat next to me, I regretted my bag was in the back; I had a nutrition bar in there. It wasn't much, but it was all I could give him. I glanced at the light then suddenly turned to reach behind, knowing I *must* give him that nutrition bar, desperately reaching into the pockets of my bag, clutching, finding only things useful to me - my toothbrush, kleenex, other odds and ends...no nutrition bar. I tried the pocket at the other side, shoving my confused but curious dog out of the way, praying the light would not change.

I've never wanted to give someone something so much as I wanted to give that man this stupid nutrition bar.

I glanced ahead...the light had changed, traffic was coming...I had to go. There was nowhere to pause. There was nothing I could do but move on.

As I passed through south Minneapolis, I couldn't get that man out of my head and I did all I could do; I prayed for him. He didn't know I was trying to find him some food; for all I know he saw the action in my car and thought I was trying to avoid looking at him.

Far from it; I really SAW him in a way I haven't seen a homeless person in a very long time.

No Maybes

Some will read this and fall upon the old party line of cautions against handouts to panhandlers, personal safety, carjackings, etc etc etc.

Sure, there's merit in that, but I had no money to give him although if I did, I might well have given it yesterday. I had but a small thing, and perhaps some of you may recall something I witnessed one hot summer day...and I couldn't forget that image, either. That event is burned into my memory.

So it happened that yesterday, there was a direct collision of my own self-pity against the cold harsh reality of someone else's very real desperation.

There, but for the grace of God, go I.

And I still wasn't able to help.

All of us are that dependent upon God; we can do nothing in and of ourselves. Even when we do offer something to others, or desire to, we sometimes are prohibited from doing so.

Who knows? Maybe that man needed a prayer more than he needed food; don't we all?

So please, stop now and pray for him, whoever he is. And when you pass by those in our communities who stand on corners holding signs, at least see them. Pray for them. Offer even an encouraging word. Anything - the dignity of humanity demands it.

Under the Bridge

Back in December, 2006, I posted the following poem:

Beneath the bridges
of the highways
People speed by, never seeing
the homeless citizens
forgotten
beneath them.
The full moon rises over the city
illumination
setting in silhouette
makeshift shelters
under which
the downtrodden settle
with their bowls of soup
reflecting
the light they can't seem to catch.

Tonight, I read a post over at A Second Chance, well worth reading for everyone. The article he cites is in my territory; I intimately know the area, and I will share a piece of this with you. But first, please read Uncle Jim's post:

Damien
35W and University Avenue

Best job: "Working for Northwestern Bell, back in '72. Lineman."

Worst job: "Day labor stuff. Minnesota Barrel, for instance. They're heavy, you gotta stack 'em three high and stuff. But it was a job. I did everything there is."

Last job: "Senior center in Cambridge, doing maintenance work on their facility. I'm a handyman."

Dream job: "I dunno. I really don't. I'm on veterans' disability. I was in Vietnam."

Although Uncle Jim quotes three, I used this one...because it is the children of our generation who will be writing articles on us, but they will be quoting "Desert Storm", "Afghanistan", or "Iraq". And if you look at the current political culture, you will see some very disturbing parallels with the Vietnam Generation.

So, without, further ado, I'll tell my story, because this image lives on in me and I will not rest until I both share it and live up to it.

My regular readers are aware of the job I hated so much...working for a big insurance company. I was an investigator, and part of my job (a large part, actually) involved going to the Land of Misfit Cars to complete vehicle inspections.

So it was that I often passed by the intersection of Lyndale and Dunwoody, 2nd Ave, and Glenwood. All run from downtown Minneapolis, under I-94 in the area of I-394, and serves as a particular place in which the Homeless make themselves known.

Some bridge underpasses are for shelter; others are for jobs.

I often saw people holding cardboard signs; "Will work for FOOD". And the like.

One day, after leaving Minneapolis Impound and heading south on Lyndale from 2nd Avenue, I came to the stop light at Lyndale and Dunwoody. I was driving a company SUV with our name on the side, and as such, was always conscious of the image I was projecting to the world...as well as the need to protect the confidential information that was held in my laptop on the passenger seat. I never did anything when I saw these people, usually choosing to avoid eye contact, although I often offered prayers. It was all I could do; I did not carry money or anything else on the job.

On that day, though, I saw something amazing.

How many people, when they see the homeless holding up signs, think, "Well, if I give that person money, he's just going to spend it on alcohol?" Or some variation on that theme.

So it was that I was in the vehicle, just waiting for the light to change. On the Northeast corner of Lyndale and Dunwoody, a man stood, holding a sign, begging for food.

Another young man, perhaps a college student coming from Dunwoody, was crossing Lyndale towards the homeless person, holding an apple in his hand along with his books.

I watched as he passed the man, neither acknowledging each other. god and the homeless both know that students are poor and have nothing to offer, so the former did not address the latter, expecting he would not be able to respond.

The homeless man with the sign kept on searching the drivers at the light; he did not approach anyone, only stood with his sign, the epitomy of humility.

But then something happened. The young man, the student, stopped in his tracks in the shadow of I-94, there on the west side of Downtown Minneapolis. He stopped, and looked at the apple in his hand, then turned on his heel and returned to the man with the sign, who was, by then completely oblivious to his presence.

The man with the apple either spoke or tapped the man on his shoulder, I can't remember which. The man with the sign turned around in obvious surprise, and dropped his hand-made sign to his side as he responded to the student.

The student held out his apple, almost hesitantly, yet with a certain confidance; as though he recognized that this is what he was supposed to do. The homeless man seemed to question the gift; he was clearly shocked, but when the student shrugged and continued to hold out the apple, the homeless man accepted it with a bow of gratitude, his surprise written into every feature. As the student walked away the homeless man bowed again, the gratitude literally fused into his very being, and he began to eat the apple with complete joy. His sign was forgotten; he had food in his hand, and it didn't matter that he was standing on a ghetto street corner beneath an interstate bridge...he had food from a generous stranger.

That scene has played itself out in my mind, over and over again.

It's not safe to carry money, and I have done too much work with regard to car theft to just open my window to people. And if in the middle lane, inviting people into traffic for a handout is simply not a good idea.

But the simplicity of an apple, the simple gesture of offering it with a shrug...that has done so much for me.

We don't have to offer change to the poor. We can offer actual food. We can offer granola bars, apples, gift certificates...things we ourselves use.

From that day on, I always wanted to have something to offer, but I didn't because if someting went wrong, I did not want to compromise the private information of my customers. But as a regular citizen, being a woman...could I offer something safely?

Sure.

You know your neighborhood. Those who stand on corners tend to be "regulars". They are not there to carjack you. Discern. Can you safely offer some fruit or a biscuit from breakfast, an extra meal for the guy who hangs out on your nearby corner? Do you have a copy of "Employment Weekly" or the name of a Social Worker they can contact?

Do you have the name of a church they can go to for help? A soup kitchen?

Go to your Guardian Angel, and address that of the person you are now considering. Be guided in your giving, but give. The man I saw did not see the reaction of the homeless man, who continued to rejoice long after his benefactor was out of sight.

We do not love the poor for their gratitude; we love them for the Christ who redeemed them and who lives within them.