what's your name?

Several months ago a girlfriend and I went out for coffee one night. This is a rare treat to go out during a 'work/school' night and meet up. She needed a talk and I wanted to listen--so there we were enjoying our chai tea lattes volleying frustrations and encouragements. All warm and cozy.

We were sitting at a high-top near the window watching the snow sloppily come down in wet, loose clumps--making puddles instead of mounds. A man walked passed the window--he was dragging a huge suitcase and his left leg with a twisted mal-shaped ankle/foot. His coat soaked black around his shoulders from being outside in the slush/snow/rain too long. He looked cold and miserable.

I was taken back by seeing this man because we were in the suburbs--granted only a first ring suburb and Edina! 

Now 'First ring suburb' is a term used by El and I mostly (I think--I've never heard anyone else use it)--the burbs closest to Minneapolis/St. Paul are 1st ring, then the next layer 2nd, and then the outer suburbs-3rd,etc.) And Edina is a suburb know for it's constituents having money and being snooty about it--on fact the old retail joke around town is--'EDINA: Every Day I Need Attention. I digress...

My inner monologue went something like this in during the course of about five seconds:

"There a homeless man walking outside Caribou Coffee! In Edina! How in the world did he get here? He looks like he's in bad shape dragging his ankle like that--you can't fake dragging your ankle around like that--that must be real and golly, that must hurt! I wonder how he hurt his ankle? Or, it could be a birth defect, I guess. I wonder how did he get to be  homeless wandering the sidewalks of a Caribou Coffee on a Thursday night? In Edina? In the sleet? Where is he going to sleep tonight? Wow, that $4 latte makes me feel guilty."

My friend and I looked at each other sadly. My friend remorsed (and I paraphrase), "It's sad when we can't freely go and help someone because we're scared for our own safety, because we're women." I was taken aback by her statement/thinking--I just didn't/don't think in those terms 'because we're women'. While she was pondering that, I was stumped about what could we do to make a difference to this man, because not doing anything didn't seem to be an option. So we agreed that because there were two of us...it seemed more likely we'd actually help.

We devised that we'd offer to buy the man a cup of coffee. So as we left, we did. He accepted and we went back in to get him coffee and a bottle of water. The manager was in anguish about the whole thing--this homeless man was a nuisance and here we were 'encouraging' him by buying him a cup of coffee and there was also sadness in the manager, I think, because he wasn't completely heartless--but was torn with the 'business side' of himself and not wanting to get involved and feeling sorry about this homeless man's situation.

We gave him his coffee, he thanked us as he swayed--his breath smelling of alcohol. I blurted out, "Do you believe in Jesus? Can we pray for you?" About a subtle as a brick, I am.

"Yes, m'am, I do," he responded.

"What's your name?" my friend asked.

Her question dumbfounded me--of course you should ask someones name when first meeting them--duh, Leah! Her simple question struck me deeply. I felt such a rush of affection and admiration to her. She knew what to say--I didn't. I wanted to get deep and she just asked his name.

"Michael."

After introductions we prayed. My friend and I stood either side of Michael and each put a hand on his shoulder and he put a hand on each of ours. We prayed for direction and protection for Michael, for hardened hearts to be softened, for reconnection with family.

Michael then lit a cigarette and told us a bit about his life--disjointed, strange stories on how his brother had thought that he (Michael) was Jesus and how he couldn't go to a shelter because he was transgendered, and how he was a veteran, but couldn't go to the VA. My friend respectfully admonished him, telling him he wasn't Jesus--calling him 'my friend'.

She then asked him where he would go to keep warm that night. Michael lifted his coat sleeve and showed us a series of paper hospital bracelets in various stages of deterioration. He usually went to the emergency room of a near by hospital on particularly cold nights. They knew him there.

We then parted ways. My friend saying "Keep warm, Michael".

It was an odd encounter, but left such an impression.

I think about it a lot, actually.

I think about Michael and how's he doing. I saw him the other day as I drove home from work at the bus stop talking to a woman who was handing him a cup of coffee. I think about how I usually know what to say and how I didn't that night, but my friend did. I think about how grateful I am that we don't have to do this thing...this life, alone. We can encourage each other and spur each other on to do and say and be loving to others.

We can do so much if we do it together--we can feed the poor and defend the defenseless, shelter the homeless--if we do it together. This 'striking out' on your own isn't for everybody. We can be each other's buttresses and love others and go into situations we wouldn't have otherwise if we were alone.

I didn't know what to say, but my friend did. Maybe she wouldn't have had the courage to pray for this man, but I did. We couldn't have done it without each other. It was humbling and revealing.

I think about it a lot. And I think I should do more than just think about it. I'm still praying trying to figure it out, but I know feel changed by this, that I know I must and can and will.

Imagine what you could do if you took another person along or joined-up. Or mobilized your neighborhood to do something? Or your co-workers? Or your church?

We could do so much.

~leah