Even on Piedmont 2

The thought hung in my mind like mist.  How, I wondered, could I help the homeless?  With limited financial resources, and no car, I seriously questioned what God could do with me.  Nevertheless, I've known for a long time that I should be doing something about these precious people.  Way back when, I always envisioned myself (actually, I still do) wealthy, driving around in a big, black Mercedez sedan, randomly gifting money to desperate people, giving rides and food to folk on the streets...  Granted, my dream has shifted and grown up a bit  --I probably won't give random rides to just ANYBODY-- but my intent is the same:  to help people who need it as God leads.

So, I guess I shouldn't be that surprised when I hear the Divine speaking to me about what I've always known to be true.  It's kind of scary though, when you are faced with it head on as "someday" is always such a safe, nebulous never-never land to dwell in...

To make a very long story short, I will say that along with a friend of mine, I made something happen.  Inspired by another friend, I decided to sell the cartoons I have lovingly rendered over the years, and still continue to make, and donate all the proceeds to a fund for the homeless.  So, I went to the farmer's market here in town, and armed with a fresh face, and what I hoped was a winning smile, held up my "Fresh Art for Cheap" sign and proceeded to sell $50 worth of art all for the sole purpose of making care packages for people who really needed a lift.

I had a blast! : )  I met people, and everyone was really helpful and eager to participate and buy art or give an encouraging word...  It really touched me.  And in turn, my friend and I were able to go to Walmart, buy supplies, fill bags with Q-tips, cookies and other sundries

and touch others.  Oh man, if I could tell you about the lovely people my friend and I were honored to gift and the impact that it had on me...but that's another post.

The moral of the story is this:  trust yourself and work with what ya got.  Be creative and open, there is always a way.  Love will help you find it.

Even on Piedmont 1

So, I walked up Piedmont Avenue yesterday on a spontaneous traipse and I really had a swell time.  My eyes and my senses were attuned to EVERYTHING. Each sound and smell came at me like a mac truck, and all the visuals, the stores and wares and goodies seemed to me to be from another land or time or space.  I guess I don't get out much.


  'Twas fun, this adventure.  From the gigantic great dane who sauntered by pressed up close to it's master, to the girl with the brooding eyes sitting on the sidewalk.  Every corner and nook offered something fresh, a departure from the mundane and my thirsty self drank it all in.  Another neat thing was that most of the stores were so small!  Just teeny little boxes, really, except for a few which labyrinthically (is that even a word?) went on and on forever once you got inside.  What a charming quirk.

All in all, it was was a good day.  EXCEPT for one tiny matter:  all of the homeless.  I saw many so many, and it broke my heart.  It was with a weary sigh that I continued up the street upon my arrival after noticing a group of transient people huddled together shooting the breeze with tired eyes and stringy hair under an awning.  Their bikes were parked nearby and the whole scene was in such bitter contrast to the bustling, affluent vibe surrounding them, that I had to give them props just for the guts to sit there.  Moving forward, as I continued looking around this newfound street in awe and wonder, my eyes happened to catch a lady with a head wrap and a dog sitting on some steps looking off into the distance with sad, faraway eyes.  I wanted to hug her, instead I walked away with a heavy heart.

After I had lunch, a hefty burrito, and discussed pets and allergies with a fellow diner at the Baja taqueria, I went on my way.  Right before crossing the street, I noticed a man at a bus stop who was sitting with a garbage bag stuffed full of clothes.  He was dressed in a raggedy black coat, had a beard and a tremor which made his book shake while he read.  What struck me was the dignity he looked to be desperately trying to maintain as he sat on that seat.  I wished I could have offered him something, but again, I didn't know what.

And finally there was yet ANOTHER man who I had to look at three times just to make sure what was going on.  He was also sitting on a bench, but this guy was in bad shape.  His face was bandaged and he was chewing on a straw which, at first, I thought to be some sort of feeding tube or blood (hence the double take).  His pant leg was folded up revealing more bandages and the rest of him was torn and bumped and bruised-looking.  He reminded me of a clubfoot pigeon.  I felt achey just looking at him.  We nodded at each other and I went on my way.

As my day came to a close and I walked back down Piedmont, many thoughts flooded my mind.  Mostly though, I wondered how I could help people like the ones I had seen that day who seemed to weave a black thread in the otherwise gold and lustrous fabric of this cute little street.  As I prayed asking God to help them, I heard a distinct little voice say "You help them".

To be continued...

(snaps courtesy of google images)

Just a thought...

Sleeping on a bench, a man wakes up, rubs his eyes and looks around wearily at the world.  A full garbage can greets him, and he sees the shopping cart that totes around his life.  Sighing, he closes them again, wanting just for a moment to forget, to dream of his mothers embrace, running around in the yard as a small child, to feel loved again, whole and protected.  As the wind rushes up to rustle the newspaper he’s been sleeping on, he realizes it’s a lost cause and gets up.  Thus begins his day...

This is the scene for millions--tons of people in our midst:  Waking up to the elements, while we lie sleeping peacefully under a soft, fluffy blanket, remote still in our hand from a night up maybe with the wife and kids watching a movie in the bedroom.  Breakfast awaits us in the kitchen--pancakes or toast and eggs, depending...  Why the disparity?  Hardship, addiction, abuse, mental illness; conditions beyond our control, the list goes on.  It is not hard to understand why people are down and out, reasons to beat us onto the sidewalk abound.  What is hard to get is why we have let homelessness gain momentum and grow to such proportions.  Yes, we have dozed off, become numb in the face of suffering; we have submitted to the status quo--indeed have stood by as passive witnesses and somehow now the divide between our cheerful Sunday morning breakfasts and the man on the bench seems normal.  How have we let this injustice happen, not only the physicality of it, but the hardening of our hearts?

Just the other day, a man was sleeping in my quiet, little hometown right in the middle of the main drag in the bushes. He was big and unwieldy and his presence was like a pimple in the middle of an idyllic, everyday scene.  To me, this situation, though “normal" in our present-day society, was monumental.  I stopped dead in my tracks and did a double take.  I gawked, I gaped, I floundered...I didn’t know what to do.  It’s not that I’ve never seen people sleeping in the bushes, or otherwise living on the fringe, but the fact that this happened in a town  that predominantly caters to families and older white people,  where not much out of the usual happens for me, magnified the reality of homelessness to the nines.  And the fact that this was happening in my hometown was a real shocker.

As I stood by unable to move, pretending to look at my phone, wanting desperataly to do something but not knowing what, I noticed that most everybody walking by was making a point of ignoring him.  And those that weren’t, seemed to gape out of curiosity, as though tourists viewing a monster in a cage. Still others moved away quickly, as if they had been bitten and continued on.  I wanted to scream “Don’t you see??  Don't you care?”  And what did I do?  Nothing.  A big fat zero.  Oh, I prayed for him, that I did, but beyond this invisible supplication, I did nothing.  What could I have done?  What could anybody have done?  I don’t know, but for me, the man in the bushes served as a hefty reminder that something must be done in our society because something is very, very wrong.  When people sleep in bushes and others pretend not to care, we have a problem, Houston. 

There is a church in San Francisco where people can come to sleep if they need to get out of the elements; this church is called St. Bonifice.  No questions are asked.  Basically, this church has it’s doors open all day to the homeless.  Various folks fill the pews with their sleeping forms, and canes and backpacks.  Such an atmosphere of peace and sanctity soaks the place, you can just feel the reverence for life.  In this church, there is a fresco of Jesus on the ceiling.  It is huge. When I look at it, I feel as though I am surrounded by love itself, by protection and understanding.  His arms seems to call, to beckon to come. Grace and healing are St. Bonifice's cornerstones...   Shouldn’t that also be what we, as a society are about?  To shelter our fellow man; brother and sister as it may be, with compassion, kindness and very real assistance?    

Love is the only thing that will remedy this ill of homelessness. The love that has been planted in all of us, the compassion that we all have or are capable of having.  I am not advocating that everybody go out and house a homeless person, or spend money and resources they don’t have on the care and feeding of someone.  That's a big responsibility that not everybody is capable of.  What I am saying, is when you see someone in need, stop before reacting, reach down inside and listen to that voice for direction, the voice of your heart, your soul...    For me it’s Jesus, and do what it says.  It may be uncomfortable, but what’s the alternative?