Truly Seeing

When it comes to encountering the homeless, I have mixed feelings. I grew up with a handicapped father whose life mottoes included pulling yourself up from your bootstraps, not falling prey to your circumstances, life is what you make of it, that whole shebang. So when I see my brother or sister with a handwritten cardboard sign at a stoplight, I have the why can't they get a job thought, followed by the I would give them money but I don't know what I'm truly funding thought. Then I have what I might call my Christian sympathy. If Jesus was walking the earth today, wouldn't he interact with the homeless? He wouldn't pass by them in his car, unsure of if he should give or not give.

So, knowing that about me, I met a very nice homeless man the other day. My friend Madi and I were sitting on a bench outside of Starbucks, enjoying the afternoon sun, when a man walking his bike, stopped to talk to us.

It was clear by the cardboard sign tucked under his arm and his worn clothing that he was at the very least begging if not homeless.

So he stopped to talk to us, commenting on our coffee and talking about though he's grown up on the streets he can't give up his coffee.

Normally I would have a tight smile and might try to give hints to end the conversation but there was something different about this man, he was nice to talk to. He asked if I went to school around Westwood (I get it all the time, I have the skin of a 17-year-old) and I told him I was a high school teacher. He talked about his mom and how she was a teacher and how he rarely paid attention in school because he had his mom to teach him.

He said in school he studied the clouds outside, not giving much of a care to what his teachers were teaching. I could picture a younger version of this man, sitting at his desk at school, gazing out the window at the shapes of the clouds. The man before me had weathered, leathery skin that had seen many winter nights and summer days, and I couldn't help but think of my students. Were any of them slipping through the cracks of school, destined to a life like this man?

He continued to talk about getting kicked out of the house early and getting into all sorts of trouble thereafter.

And then he asked for my name. Jacky. Short for Jacquelyn? Yup.

And he asked for Madi's. Short for Madeline? Madison.

He nodded and gripped the handlebars of his bike like he might be finished with this conversation.

I asked what his name was. George.

George and I talked for another 10 minutes about his name and getting called George of the Jungle and Curious George and even though some of his words slurred together and at some points he lost his train of thought, I really enjoyed talking to George, and I've thought of him almost every day since.

Our greatest human desires are to be seen and to be known. So maybe instead of treating homelessness like it's either a desire to work or not to work or a will to make something of oneself or a state of complacency, I can just be content to know people, to ask for their names and tell them mine, to listen.

If you didn't go to the Skate Church you might not know Jeff, who can be seen sitting beside a cardboard sign or walking all throughout West Seattle, especially the Junction area. I may have met Jeff over a dozen times and he still doesn't remember me, but he's a person. More than that he's the man who, when the church was invited to my best friend's wedding, found a suit and attended her wedding sober.

I want to begin to treat people like people, what a concept. Jesus had meaningful, intention interactions with people and I want to live the same way. Lord guide my steps and my words. Help me to love people as you did.