I talked to a homeless guy today. His name is Michael. I can't get him off my mind.
He was sitting outside temple square, his back against a tree, a cardboard sign propped against his knee with the words "living on the streets, anything will help" written in horrible hand-writing, and a paper cup sitting on the pavement in front of him with a few quarters in it.
He was holding a cup of coffee, wearing a coat, jeans, beat up tennis shoes and a baseball cap. He had a small back pack next to him. He was a skinny guy, his hair was long, he looked a bit dirty, and he had facial hair.
I've seen people holding signs all my life. I'm from Portland.... Sometimes I give money, sometimes I give food, sometimes I just pass by...usually depending on how safe I feel and whether I have anything to offer. I once tried to offer a family some food at a rest-stop, but they only wanted money.
Today, all I had was a hand full of pennies at the bottom of my purse. So, I went over to Michael and said, "All I have are a bunch of pennies. Are you interested?" He said, "Yes please; every little bit helps."
I then knelt down on the pavement and began to talk with him while I waited for my ride. I asked him if he had some place warm to stay tonight, since it was beginning to snow. He said he lives in a tent in the mountains. I asked him if he had stuff to build a fire. He said he lives too close to a residential area; if he built a fire they'd throw him in jail. I asked him if he had any friends who stayed with him. He said that he had had one, but they had a fight and parted ways a while ago.
I asked him how long it's been since he's had a home. He said he hasn't truly lived under a roof since the early 90s. I asked him how he became homeless. He said he came from a family of drug addicts and alcoholics and he, himself got heavily involved in drugs and alcohol, then got heavily involved in theft, and then spent 18 years in prison.
He told me he's been out of prison for years, but has no identification and has a hard time finding a job without identification. It really seemed to me that he had no idea of how to even go about getting help. He says he's completely off drugs and alcohol, but is addicted to coffee and cigarettes.
I asked him if he ever goes to shelters. He said he had before, but the times he's stayed in those places, other homeless people steal whatever he does have in his backpack.
I asked him if he ever talks to God. He said, "No...I don't do that." I said, "I know it may seem like a long shot, but I'd try talking to Him. If anyone can help you out, it'll most likely be Him." He nodded his head.
As my ride pulled up I told him I would pray for him. He seemed more grateful for that than the pennies I gave him.
He has a good soul. I could tell by talking with him. He wasn't bothering people like some do, just sitting there, looking at the ground. It seemed almost like he appreciated our conversation more than anything else.
I'm really really blessed. Like REALLY blessed. I was born into a home with amazing parents, in a good situation, with the Gospel of Christ the center of it all. I'm really blessed. I'll be thinking about Michael for a while.
Aunt Nancy, Aunt Annie, Uncle Bob and I all got together the day after Thanksgiving and dipped close to 1,200 home made chocolates. Yes. TWELVE HUNDRED. The following pictures will give you just a glimpse of all we did.
Grandma, winding up her little musical friend.
Makeup-less me, trying to keep it together.
