Our youth group has been traveling once a month to Ft. Worth. We go to an area of town where many, many homeless are on the streets. Once there, we set up tables and pass out hot dogs, water, crackers, socks, toiletries, Bibles, shoes... basically anything that we have gathered during the month from our friends and church members.
This was the first time Rick and I went with the group.
It was overwhelming. As soon as our vans drove into the neighborhood, floods of people began streaming towards the end of the road where we would park. They congregated and waited. We hopped out of the van and greeted our compadres from another church that were part of this ministry. Slowly, our 20 bright orange t-shirts labeling us as a team dispersed into little groups of 2-3 as we mingled with the street people. (I'm trying to think of a respectful term to call them...Homeless, Street People, brothers & sisters?)
The youth were awesome! They'd been here before and needed NO nudging to go out and mingle and talk. They took water and food down the street to those who didn't get up and meet us. One of our girls even gave her shoes off of her feet to a pregnant woman on a cot. (She had a spare pair in the van...)
Rick and I moved around the group as we assimilated to the experience. He engaged "Jimmy" in conversation, and I joined in. Jimmy was nice to us, seemed pretty smart, and just like all of us, he had a story to tell. Rick and I chatted with him for quite a while. And felt good about what we were doing. He was grateful for us being there, and said that in his eyes, there were no color differences between us. We were all the same. I cried.
But then, he asked for a bus fare. Just a buck and a quarter. That's all. We told Jimmy that we did not bring money, but we brought food and water. And hope. He didn't want that, and quickly informed us that he had wasted his time talking to us. He walked away, ticked at us for wasting his time.
Rick and I looked at each other... acknowledging silently that our feelings were hurt. We felt sad for Jimmy, a little frustrated and taken aback. I guess our skin isn't very thick.
We continued on, meeting others that were very grateful. And so many said thank you.
It was hard looking in their eyes, making eye contact. To do so opens you up to being vulnerable, to inviting their pain into your life. And so many of their eyes were empty. Void. Some eyes were challenging, some were uninviting. Some were thankful.
But we did what we are told to do. We went. We offered. We're learning that
church is not in our sanctuary. It is in our neighborhood, our city. It is in Honduras at the House of Hope. It is in Darfur. It is on the streets of Ft Worth.
