I waited by the
bus stop in half-hearted anticipation, my full weight slouched into the
sidewalk bench – slightly hunched forward as I texted some or the other of my
social media friends. It had been a long day; my second day volunteering at the
Rock Thrift store. I could see it now across the road, part of my view
obstructed by passing cars and by the sale rack placed right next to the
doorway. Occasionally a homeless person would walk in or out of the shop,
sometimes downcast upon entering but always with a twinkle of hope and even a
smile when leaving. I had wondered about the aura of the Rock ever since our
first volunteers meeting. Something about it was unlike any other working
environment I’d ever been in (that’s saying a lot given I’ve worked at least 8
jobs, but not much given they were all minimum wage entrance level
occupations). Violet’s gentle and quiet spirit was the first thing that struck
me about her, after her heartfelt smile and before the fact that she begins
work meetings with prayer and devotion. I can’t imagine that being a way of life
for anyone else, except in Christ-seeking churches. We’d spent the first two
days of volunteering steaming racks upon racks of 2nd (maybe 3rd)
hand clothes.
I currently sucked
one of my hand blisters as I eyed a small man go round the curve towards me. I
love people-watching, timeless hobby that, and there’s no place like San Diego
to feed such a fetish. I’d since learned from my mom that there’s really
nothing inherently wrong with saying hi to strangers. Since then, deciding
whether or not I’d greet someone based on distance and perceived approachability
had become an important element of my people-watching. I sized him up a little
and it didn’t take me 2 seconds to categorize him as homeless. I think I’m not
alone in feeling bolder when talking to people of lower economic status than
myself, so unless I think it may be dangerous, I greet the homeless (subject to
my mood). His shabby clothes drooped around him and despite my fatigue I
figured he needed a hi much more than it would hurt me to acknowledge him. When
he was the perfect distance from me (about half a meter), I said the risky word
and waited vulnerably as always to see if and how he’d respond to my advance.
It’s always the hardest part. To my surprise he gave me possibly the most
joyful and heartfelt greeting I believe I’ll receive in a while. His eyes had
the twinkle of Rock Thrift store leavers, and his spirit, the momentary glimpse
I caught of it, ran deep and love-filled. He reminded me of Violet, and come to
think of it, of Jesus. Though we only crossed paths once and held eye contact
for a second, and though I cannot remember his spoken words, I cannot forget
his enchanting smile and the impression that moment left in my heart. As his lopsided
wheelchair grew smaller in the distance, and even when I entered the bus that wise,
wise saying became salient:
“Forget not to show love unto strangers: for thereby
some have entertained angels unawares.”
Hebrews 13:2 (ASV)
