If any of you who bother to read this have talked to me at any point this year, you know that this is a very grueling school year. Lately especially, with block exams and board exams looming, I have been even more pressured by school. However, Sunday was a very good day. The whole town of Columbia seemed to be on pause; while downtown standing outside the Artisan talking with my mom on the phone I noticed only two cars driving in any direction from where I could see. There wasn't but a couple people now and again walking through the district, and the air was still. The Artisan was equally peaceful being about a quarter full at best, with low-playing Beatles music and the sound of milk steamers and coffee grinders occasionally interrupting. I was studying for block exams while being kept company by a friend analyzed a research article and proofread a report. I was already feeling blessed and in a good mood by the time I met Jeff, who taught me what I believe God had in mind to say to me that good day.
I was using the restroom and had just discovered that the soap dispenser was empty, when Jeff offered me some of his own liquid soap. He was at the other sink at the counter brushing his teeth. On the counter was his styrofoam cup holding water, a pocket bible open to a much-highlighted page of Psalms, and a cloth tote bag that contained shampoo, liquid soap, and other necessities.
Jeff and I began to talk, and he confided to me that he was currently homeless but had complete faith that God would care for and provide for him. He wasn't always homeless, and had even been in college and considered a health care profession. He demonstrated a still-keen memory of medical terminology by discussing the various terms used to describe stroke, cerebrovascular accidents, QRS-T EKG complexes, and so forth. He married however and settled down, although a habit of giving more time to friends and drinking lead to an unhappy wife, and though he didn't specifically mention it he is no longer with her. A friend convinced him to come to Missouri, where life was slower and he would find it easier to get along.
Now in Missouri, he has the next two months to wait to find out whether he will receive disabilities pay and potentially be able to live in Paquin tower or another similar housing situation. Despite many hardships he shared, he continually repeated the joy and reliance he has on God for his needs, and the thankfulness he has for even the smallest pleasures. It shames me to think how often I have taken for granted something so simple as being able to get a meal out at a restaurant, or a warm bed, or email, or a hot shower, when this man lives from what he can carry on his shoulders. That alone is perhaps the only telling sign he is currently living homeless. He criticized other homeless individuals for shooting themselves in the foot by not keeping good hygiene, or by their disrespectful attitudes and rudeness that prevents them from having the same welcomeness Jeff has in establishments such as the Artisan or Panera.
Jeff praised the simple joy of seeing the fireflies, even if he doesn't have a roof. He told of his overwhelming joy in the Artisan's Gourmet Grilled Cheeze, simply because it is not familiar enough to be mundane to his senses. He spoke earnestly about his desire to "break bread" with me sometime, just to enjoy that pleasure. Jeff amazed me with his utter hope and reliance on God. He did not deny that he desired a safe home, with a shelter, and bed, and human comforts, but despite his lack he would not be bitter. He was even more thankful than some of the most wealthy people I have ever met for the little things. I believe he prays in earnest:
" But as for me, I will always have hope;
I will praise you more and more.
My mouth will tell of your righteousness,
of your salvation all day long,
though I know not its measure."
Psalms 71:14 - 15
I was using the restroom and had just discovered that the soap dispenser was empty, when Jeff offered me some of his own liquid soap. He was at the other sink at the counter brushing his teeth. On the counter was his styrofoam cup holding water, a pocket bible open to a much-highlighted page of Psalms, and a cloth tote bag that contained shampoo, liquid soap, and other necessities.
Jeff and I began to talk, and he confided to me that he was currently homeless but had complete faith that God would care for and provide for him. He wasn't always homeless, and had even been in college and considered a health care profession. He demonstrated a still-keen memory of medical terminology by discussing the various terms used to describe stroke, cerebrovascular accidents, QRS-T EKG complexes, and so forth. He married however and settled down, although a habit of giving more time to friends and drinking lead to an unhappy wife, and though he didn't specifically mention it he is no longer with her. A friend convinced him to come to Missouri, where life was slower and he would find it easier to get along.
Now in Missouri, he has the next two months to wait to find out whether he will receive disabilities pay and potentially be able to live in Paquin tower or another similar housing situation. Despite many hardships he shared, he continually repeated the joy and reliance he has on God for his needs, and the thankfulness he has for even the smallest pleasures. It shames me to think how often I have taken for granted something so simple as being able to get a meal out at a restaurant, or a warm bed, or email, or a hot shower, when this man lives from what he can carry on his shoulders. That alone is perhaps the only telling sign he is currently living homeless. He criticized other homeless individuals for shooting themselves in the foot by not keeping good hygiene, or by their disrespectful attitudes and rudeness that prevents them from having the same welcomeness Jeff has in establishments such as the Artisan or Panera.
Jeff praised the simple joy of seeing the fireflies, even if he doesn't have a roof. He told of his overwhelming joy in the Artisan's Gourmet Grilled Cheeze, simply because it is not familiar enough to be mundane to his senses. He spoke earnestly about his desire to "break bread" with me sometime, just to enjoy that pleasure. Jeff amazed me with his utter hope and reliance on God. He did not deny that he desired a safe home, with a shelter, and bed, and human comforts, but despite his lack he would not be bitter. He was even more thankful than some of the most wealthy people I have ever met for the little things. I believe he prays in earnest:
" But as for me, I will always have hope;
I will praise you more and more.
My mouth will tell of your righteousness,
of your salvation all day long,
though I know not its measure."
Psalms 71:14 - 15