It doesn’t seem like very long ago that I lived in the heart of multiple major cities. My last ‘downtown’ home was in Portland, OR; perched on the 7th floor of a high-rise apartment building in the heart of the ‘Pearl District’ – which was Portland’s hottest neighborhood at the time.
While in Portland, I volunteered twice a week at a local homeless shelter for the duration of my stay in the city. Each morning, I’d arrive at 7am and take my place at the end of the food line; standing by the trash cans, where I’d collect and process the trays and silverware of those eating. By ‘process’, I mean that I’d bang the leftover food in the trash can before stacking the trays and throwing the silverware in large bins full of cleaning solution.
For whatever reason, I took a great deal of pride in ‘owning’ this one spot in the volunteer line. Most volunteers were more eager to stand behind the counter and dish out food on the trays. Yet, I felt a certain sense of peace and stillness taking the job nobody else wanted. In a lot of ways, it felt like playing the drums; booming the trays on a trash can, playing ‘cymballs’ with the silverware, and hitting the ‘snare drum’ as I stacked each tray on a large pile.
Often, the trays would run out and it’d be necessary to go table-to-table collecting the used trays from the patrons who had left without bringing them back to me. While weaving in and out of the tightly-packed room, I felt a sense of immersion in a people group that few ever get to know in such an intimate manner.
There was such a polarity between our two worlds; the difference in perspective that I had with the patrons, I mean. I left a posh high-rise and wore a Tumi jacket to the shelter each morning, before going to work at a ‘unicorn’ startup – complete with 4+ kombuchas on tap at the office alongside a fully-stocked bar that put most top-shelf establishments to shame with its selection and decor.
For the patrons at the shelter, breakfast was a much different experience. It was their send-off before returning to life on the streets, where each day was uncertain – and certainly not promised.
Ever since leaving Porland, I stopped having a regular interface with the homeless. In a lot of ways, it felt like a part of my heart had stopped beating, because I sincerely loved being able to serve, love and care for those who were in need of hope. I also felt my own sense of hope in helping these people; hurt people help other hurt people, I suppose.
For the last few weeks, I’ve felt a tug on my heart to start helping the homeless again. I’ve been pondering the best way to do so, when a surprise encounter this morning came right to my mailbox.
This morning, I dropped the 944 off at European Auto Care, where it was due for a set of new tie rods. After squaring things away at the front desk and handing them the parts I ordered from Holland, I walked outside to my waiting Lyft pickup.
As I opened the door, the driver told me:
“My son is in the car, I hope that’s ok!”
“Hey, I’ve got a kiddo too!” I responded, as I got into the back seat, which I noticed was absolutely filthy with stains. I wasn’t grossed out. Rather, I pondered if the state of her car had an impact on her driver ratings.
As we pulled out of the parking lot, I couldn’t help but notice that her car was in desperate need of struts as it squeaked terribly with every bump. Meanwhile, her 4 year-old son was happily playing with a cell phone and making ‘dragon faces’ using a filter.
During the short ride, she shared with me that she had recently been accepted as a Lyft driver, and that it paid about $100 per day; substantially less than she made while driving for Uber, which had recently disqualified her because of her car insurance type.
She also shared that she had recently been evicted from her apartment and was now living in a hotel with her son; paying $70 a day to have a safe place for them to sleep each night/day.
I didn’t have a lot of time left in the ride, but enough to share a few pages of my own story with her and promising her that I’d keep her and her son in prayer as they went through this difficult chapter of their life.
“God always takes care of His kids.” I said, before getting out of the car. “Keep putting one foot in front of the other.”
As I walked away, I attempted to give her a large tip. However, Lyft limted the amount I was able to give her. I wanted to give her and her son at least enough for have a night of safety. So, I decided to call another Lyft and hoped that she’d be assigned the ride; sending a quick prayer to God asking to make it so.
Immediately, the app assigned her back to my home and I ran to my mailbox to leave a few items, as well as everything in my wallet.
I had to pick up Atlas, and decided to give her a call through the app to let her know to check the mailbox. Her son answered the phone and I talked with him until I heard her voice on the other end, letting her know that I didn’t need a ride at all but instead had left her a small care package in the mailbox.
She wept when she opened the mailbox, and I continued on my drive to pick up Atlas as I wished her well and a goodbye.
Today with Atlas was the most peaceful day I’ve ever had. Every moment felt like gold, and I truly never have been so thankful to have the beautiful home, time together and even ‘golden problems’ that I encountered throughout the day.
Rich comes in my different faces and sizes. Some people – all they have is money. Others are rich in spirit, life, hope and belief.
When I picked up Atlas, I told him about Brianna and her little boy. As we drove off to our first adventure, we stopped to lift both of them up in prayer. As I write this, I’m looking down at him; fast-asleep in front of our fireplace. In every way, I am thankful.
If you’re reading this, please keep Brianna in your prayers.
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