Only two items remain on the list as I drive up to the drug store. I'm hoping that they will have what I need- a quick in and out visit. I pull into the parking lot and slide into the space. And as I open my door, I notice the man sitting on the curb two spaces down.
"Do you have any money?," he asks me as I walk by to the store doors.
"I'm sorry, I have no cash," I tell him honestly.
"Oh that's ok, Mama. God bless you."
"Thank you," I tell him. "And you too."
(just for reference, "Mama" is something of a term of endearment where I live. Even little girls are frequently called "mama" or "mamita." It's really a sweet thing most of the time. And so, I wasn't offended at all.)
I enter the store and sure enough, the one thing I need is in stock, right where it should be. But, the man out front remains on my mind and on my heart. I approach the check out counter, but then turn into the food aisle.
What do you buy a homeless guy to eat from the drug store selection?
Who knows what soda he would prefer? Caffeine or no caffeine? Coke or Sprite or...? No, water.
Something with protein. But maybe jerky is too hard to chew. What kind of nuts? There are none of those little tuna & cracker packages. I'll go with trail mix. With chocolate. Because who doesn't want chocolate?
And something sweet. Cookies? But what kind? Oreos? Chocolate chip? Lorna Doones? A candy bar? I finally settle on powdered sugar donuts, because everyone likes a little tube of powdered sugar donuts, right?
I pay for my purchases, and put them in two different sacks. I walk out the doors. There's a fair amount of traffic and people are coming both in and out. Everyone is ignoring the guy on the curb. In fact, as I walk out, I see a car leaving from the very spot in front of the man, as if he is invisible, as if he doesn't even exist.
He gives me a wave, but I stop in front of him and hold out the bag.
"Here are just a few things for you," I tell him.
"Oh Mama! Thank you!," he says as he receives the sack.
"What's your name?," I ask, as I hold out my hand.
He tells me his name and I introduce myself too.
"How long have you been here? What brought you to the Valley?"
He explains that he is from our area, and has family here even now. He was recently released from 21 years in prison, and is still looking for work, for a place to live. I figure that he has probably burned some bridges along the way.
"Will you spend tonight at the shelter?," I ask him as I point up the street.
"Aw no, Mama," he answers. "That guy, he gets in my face. But hey! It's a great night to be outside."
I laugh, because I imagine that he's not much of a rule follower and because really, it is a pretty nice night.
"Ok then, God bless you."
I get into my car, and I drive away. I spend a few miles remembering other people I've known who have spent time on the street. I think about the life that led to this guy passing another night on the curb, thinking about all those who will ignore that he even exists tonight, thinking about circumstance and choices and mercy and grace.
I arrive home, and walk inside, continuing on with the busyness of the day, and quickly, I, too, forget.
I hope you find family and joy and hope today, Abel.
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