life on the street

"hey baby, can i walk and talk with you? i won't bite...unless you want me to."

sometimes walking down the street here is a test of my self-restraint. other times it is a test of my capacity to take time to show a person some dignity and (i hope) some love.



I met Mike under the beautiful arches of union station. he had a conspicuous facial injury and was only looking for a train ticket to his aunt's house. i rode on the train with him as he recounted his past romantic history with a ("please don't be offended") white woman in atlanta. he is exceedingly kind, and i don't think i've ever received such a warm hug from a new acquaintance than i did when we parted ways.

Lauren is the victim of government conspiracy. or at least she thinks she is. she sits yards away from the white house and describes to passers-by how lots of important people have it out for her because she has extensive knowledge of classified secrets. apparently, angelina jolie is in on it, as well, as she explained to me one blistery night on a sidewalk surrounded by all her worldly possessions.

Malcolm Rivers would rather be called Mount Zion. that or Lover Boy. i told him i couldn't call him that. i've caught him outside the postal museum twice now, and he wants me to drive him to new jersey. or at least bring him a sleeping bag. he warned me that marriage ruins women, mainly because it makes them lose their shape. i assured him that i would consider his advice.

Franklin M.O. Kenney is a writer. he is working on his fourth book, he explained to me on the street corner as i was heading to work one morning. it is something of a sci-fi thriller and involves deception and aliens. he can't get hired, so he does his writing in the shelter. "it's a jungle, baby," he tells me. i walked past this man initially when i saw him in front of the Starbucks, trying to hold to my conviction that i should avoid giving money to people on the street and just get on my train. but he was only asking for hot chocolate. could i deny him that small treat on a cold morning? when we parted, Franklin called after me, saying, "not every guy on the street is destitute."

it was raining the day i met Al. this vietnam vet was circling the metro station in his motorized wheelchair, trying to sell umbrellas for 5 bucks. business was not good. Al told me that since he lost his war vet benefits, he has slept on the street. he doesn't want to beg. he wants to offer something in return. Al wants to change the perception that all homeless people are bums and drunks. he is also a poet, and without faltering he recited his latest poem to my friend and me, which was beautiful and a little difficult to hear. he spoke about feeling invisible. Al feels invisible; and to many people, he is.

there are nearly 12,000 people experiencing homelessness in my city. i've probably met 12 of them. i am overwhelmed by this reality at times, and then i'm overwhelmed by the need for good neighbors in my city. scripture gives us the great command to love God and love neighbor. in fact, it seems to suggest that if these are not the same thing, then they are at least very closely linked.

something that intrigues me about life is figuring out how to really show love to God and how loving my neighbor is an expression of love for God. i sometimes find myself so incapable, so unwilling, to really know and love my neighbors who live on my street. "this will take time," i think. "it will probably be messy, too." at this point in life - in this city - i still wonder how exactly i am called to love God and neighbor. all i really know to do right now is to look Al straight in the eyes so he knows. he is not invisible. to me or to God.