The homeless have always been in the margins of my sight,
background characters to my leading role.
They were there, beggars and drunkards alike, cast in the shadows of the
spotlight. I had never really looked at
them, but I remember them; some overdressed in layers of dirty apparel in the
summer heat, some barely clothed in the wet winters. There were some lying on
the sidewalk as if they were dead, there were some who walked out into the middle
of the street during heavy traffic, sat down, and ate their lunch of scraps
next to a dead pigeon. The homeless were
always there, but I never gave them a second thought.
One day a couple of weeks ago, I took the train to visit my
mom in Carson. When I met her in the
parking lot of the train station, she asked me if I wanted to go take some
water to the people living in the parking lot.
I was shocked. Did she mean to deliberately go to them and offer them
one of her many gallons of water on that blistering day?
“Sure” I said, with some apprehension. I didn’t really know
how to proceed with that. She had never
shown such open altruism to me before, and seeing her brave the encampment of
soiled paisley bedding tents and mismatched shopping carts, I wondered how many
times she had done this.
She walked with a smile, juggling four gallons of water in
her arms as she offered water to those she passed. Seeing her confident stride,
I did the same.
When all of our water had been given away, we walked backed
to our car. As we passed a woman, she asked if my mother was a pastor. I smiled and said no, just doing a little
public service. My mother stopped as
well and asked the woman her name. She
began to cry at that, and said “Gloria”.
“Why are you crying, Gloria?” my mom asked.
“Because I’m out here, getting high all the time,” she said,
her voice cracking.
And in that moment, I began to really see her. She was a woman in her mid-thirties with such
sad eyes and a broken spirit. She said she came out there almost every day to
get high. She spoke `for a while, just
venting her troubles about her precarious situation, about how she wanted to do
better, but couldn’t seem to find the strength.
When she had finished, she asked me to keep her in my prayers.
I thought about Gloria for a long time afterwards. I realized
that the spotlight wasn’t just on me. Everyone
had their own spotlight, and deserved to be seen and heard just as much as I did. The homeless weren’t just background
characters, they were main characters—and main characters were human beings. People without homes
deserve to be in the spotlight just as much as anyone.
People become homeless for many different reasons. But just because they live on the streets doesn’t
mean they aren’t worth our time, our attention, our respect. The reasons people become homeless don’t seem
as important to me as helping them adjust to their new situation and helping
them get back on their feet.
I don’t know the solutions to “ending homelessness” either,
but I know that journey begins with all of us showing a little compassion.