Broken Bodies

I went to the grocery store today. I really didn't even need to go, I just felt like getting out of the house, and I'm making pesto for my Bible study tomorrow, so I figured I would just go and pick up the extra ingredients I needed and then come back and write all day. That's kind of what I do these days. I suppose I'm getting used to it. Things like this always happen once I'm comfortable. I was coming out of the grocery store, when I was approached by a man and an elderly woman. I could tell what they wanted just by looking at them. The man, who said his name was Robert, told me about how he had just gotten out of the hospital, and needed to care for his mother (her name was Nina) who also had some health problems. He showed me his foot, which was swollen and red, so much so that he could not fit it entirely inside his shoes, which were falling apart. He swore to me several times that neither of them were addicted to drugs or alcohol, and asked if I could help them get something to eat. I hesitated. I always hesitate. It's my defining characteristic. I tried to offer them some of my groceries, but Robert said that his mother couldn't chew anything but soft food. I reluctantly asked him where I could get them some food. He asked me if I had any change. I told him I didn't. Only the card. I lied. I just can't trust people, but I still wanted to help. He told me to go across that street to the Carls Jr. "We live there," he said. "We're homeless." I offered him a ride, given the state of his foot, I thought he could use it. "We'll walk there," he said. With that he left. I watched him walk over there, gently taking his mother's arm, limping across the street. I drove over to the other side of the street, where they passed out of my view. I wondered how they could actually live there, since the restaurant was on the corner, and there didn't seem to be any alleyways or places they could hide for the night. I couldn't see where they went. Then I saw it. Robert pushed open the door to the dumpster on the side of the restaurant. That was their home. They lived by the dumpster. I began to see them differently. We walked inside, and I stood in line to get some food, while Robert went to sit his mother down at one of the tables. He then went and stood by me, and told me what he and his mother wanted for food. I asked him about his foot. He told me that he was on his way to the hospital to have it checked up on again, but if he didn't get the medicine he needed, the doctors said he might lose his leg. I have no idea what that must feel like. After ordering the food, I went over to the table, where Nina was sitting. Robert said he needed to wash his hands, and asked if I could watch his mother for a while. I agreed. She asked me what my name was. I could hear in her voice that it was painful for her to breathe. I told her my name and put my hand out to shake hers. She did not even move hers. It was at that point that I realized why her son had to direct her everywhere she went. She was blind. "It's nice to meet you," she said, with great effort. "I'm sorry I can't see you." I could see every rib in her chest as she struggled to breathe. She told me about her condition. Athsma. I had never seen it this bad before. She said that the inhaler cost $13.00, but she couldn't afford it. I had a little money in my pocket, minus my tithe, which I forgot to put in the offering plate this Sunday. I gave her what I had. I know I tell people all the time (just said this to someone yesterday, actually) to never give out money to the homeless, but I suspended my beliefs for a moment. I started to think about what it would take for someone to survive in this state. A blind woman living behind a dumpster with her son, neither of them able to find the money for medication they need to live. I asked Nina and Robert if I could pray for them. They smiled and said yes. I prayed my most feeble prayer, without much hope for Robert and Nina. How can I dare hope? I watched them leave. I almost cried as I thought about the two of them. No hope in the world, and nothing to hold onto except each other. This is a strange world we live in, where I can call myself poor, and yet there are people who live beside dumpsters, as though they were trash. I thought about my tithe, and how I had been taught from a young age to give to the church, and let God have the first fruits of our harvest. What good could be done with that money, and yet we use it for the new building fund. For a brand new sound system. For snacks for the monday night Bible studies, where people who can afford to eat far more than is healthy come to stuff their fat faces once again. I don't know what Robert might feel like, but I know that I belong to a body that does not function as it should. I'm afraid of what might happen if we don't heal soon. We might lose more than a few body parts. "Remember me in your prayers," Robert said as he walked out the door. "I don't know any other way we're going to get through this." What else do I have to offer besides this? So I am praying. Praying for two broken bodies, and the body that was formed out of brokenness. I pray for healing, and by God, I pray that I remember.