Another day or two later, our paths crossed again at the stoplight. I rolled down my window and asked, “Hey, Darren, how are you?” and held out a bill. He came over and said, “No, no, you’ve done too much.”
A homeless man begging on the streets turning down money because he felt undeserving. My heart broke.
I said, “No, buddy, it’s my honor.”
And then he asked: “Is it supposed to storm tonight? It stormed the other day, and it was rough.”
I thought to myself, He has no access to weather reports. He lives in a tent. The storm he was alluding to was vicious and could only have been frightening to endure living in a tent—not even knowing it was coming.
I told him, “Yes, there is one coming, and it’s going to be bad, but not until tomorrow.”
He said: “Thank you. I believe you.” Apparently, information from others who had not tried to care for him was not trusted.
Now, when we don’t see each other for a few days, he says, “I’ve missed you.” And I miss him.
Why do I tell you this story? I wish I could say that I do this often—befriend the homeless, go out of my way to get to know them and care for them. But the truth is, I don’t. But the Holy Spirit prompted me to stop and talk with Darren, and I can honestly say that I’m glad I did, and I hope to do it more often.
Neither you, nor I, can tackle the homeless population of the world. But we can each try our best to make a difference where we can. That’s what I’m trying to do with Darren. Because it’s important to remember that he has a name, a life and a story. He matters deeply to God. And he matters to me.
This article originally appeared here and is used by permission.
