Homeless

Photo by Cheryl

As I mentioned, I'm in Yuma. It's still 97 degrees at 11:15 PM. Earlier today when I stopped to meet my friend Tina for dinner, I saw a homeless man park his belongings at the picnic tables in front of Taco Bell. My heart sunk as I watched him lumber towards the door. It looked like a painful trek.

He is probably in his 60's. Rail thin. White hair and beard. He carried one of those plastic cups Taco Bell sells their gynormous largest drinks in. A family eating dinner, dressed in their church garb (or at least that's what it looked like) watched him. I watched them. A bit of disgust crossed the mom's face. I was instantly mad at her. And then I cursed my penchant for being judgmental.

I found a table in the corner to wait for my friend. I looked up as he began to fill his cup with ice and then lumbered back outside. My heart ache grew. It was blazing hot outside. The instant you walk outdoors, your body is blasted with the heat. My face literally felt like it was burning. It was as if I'd had the worst sunburn I'd ever had.

And there he was, sitting on a table outside. With a temperature reading of 109 degrees. He pulled his cart closer to him. And ate some of the ice. He sat for a moment. I thought about my life. And how much of a complainer I've been. He stood up and it was then that I watched as he filled several of those plastic Gladware kind of things with ice.

From his cart, he pulled out wrapped deli sandwiches -- like the kind you'd buy at the grocery store. He tried stuffing the three sandwiches, as best he could, into the containers filled with ice. My heart ached a little more. There is so much I take for granted. There are so many things I expect. Why? I don't know. Simply because I'm an American I suppose. I've grown comfortable with what I do have. And the family who is providing for my needs right now.

And yet, how different from the man with the white hair and the small shopping cart am I? I live off of the generosity of others. It would appear as though he does as well. He takes what money he's given or earns and buys food. And drinks from Taco Bell. And even then, what food he does buy is not enough to keep any meat on his frail frame. How different from him am I? Truthfully? I expect I'm not really all that different.

Not in the eyes of the God who created him anyway. Not in the eyes of the God who created me. He's precious in His sight. A son. Fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139).