“If you want to be perfect, go and sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.” [Matthew 19:21 ]
We pulled off of I-71, just north of Columbus, Ohio, in desperate need to refill our gas tank and empty our bladders.
We had been on the road for only six of the seventeen hours it would take us to make the arduous journey back home to New England from visiting my family in Indiana and we were starting to get restless. Justin hopped out to begin pumping the gas, while I ran inside to use the restroom and search for some caffeine to fuel me into the next leg.
As I entered the gas station convenience store, I noticed a person sitting outside with a dog and a duffle bag. I could not tell if it was a man or a woman, but as I passed, I noticed a small cardboard sign scribbled with magic marker shoved into the side pocket of the bag. I continued inside, curious, but not compelled.
After we had both used the restroom and made our caffeine selections, we proceeded to the checkout. In front of us in the line was the person who had been sitting outside the doorway. I could see now she was a woman, her frame slighter than a mans, her hands small, and her dreadlocks sticking out of her coat hood, draping over her shoulders. She held a cup of coffee and reached deep in her pocket for some coins. After counting out the cost of her coffee in nickels and dimes, she slowly slid the amount forward across the counter to the cashier, not raising her head to make eye contact. The cashier watched the scene before her play out with a look of both annoyance and compassion. She pulled the chance close to count it, but never removed her hand from it. She paused. Sighing, she slowly slid the change back toward the woman and said softly, “You know what? It’s on me tonight.”
As Justin and I returned to the car, our over-priced snacks in tow, we both were thinking the same thing, though not expressing it out loud: “Should we help her?”
I had questioned myself on this the whole time I was in the store. I wanted to help, but I was not sure what to do. For one thing, the woman wasn’t asking for help. She had a sign that indicated earlier in the day she had been asking for help, but she was not actively displaying that sign right now. Would it insult her dignity to offer her help simply because I deduced she was homeless? Also, she was currently resting on the gas station’s sidewalk. This could technically be considered loitering. To stop and help her could draw attention to the fact that she was loitering and risk getting her kicked off of the property. Would whatever small amount of support I could offer her really make up for that?
Justin sighed, as he went to turn the key to the ignition. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“I’m trying to remind myself that it’s not my responsibility to help every person in this world who is in need,” he replied. We sat in silence for a moment. “Do you think we should help her?” he asked.
I breathed in and reached for my purse. “How much cash do we have on us?” I asked. I shared with him my concerns about helping her, and he agreed. We decided I would just go talk to her and see if she was willing to share a bit of her story. I would decide how to proceed from there.
I crawled back out of the car, climbing back into my jacket to try to stay warm on this comfortable, but crisp evening. I approached the convenience store door as if I was planning to return inside. At that moment the woman looked up and her dog stirred, moving toward me.
“Beautiful dog,” I said, reaching my hand out as the dog wagged its tail and stretched its leash, inching toward me in hopes of getting some lovin.
“Thanks,” the woman replied, her words escaping into the crisp night air from underneath the fuzzy hood of her parka. “He’s a good friend.”
“I bet he is,” I agreed, as I scratched the sides of his strong neck. “Dogs just have a special way of making us feel loved, don’t they?”
“They sure do.” The dog panted with contentment as I continued stroking his coat. “He’s about all I’ve got left!” she laughed nervously.
I hesitated, unsure how to respond in a way that wouldn’t cause her to feel any more self-conscious or vulnerable for being alone. “Have you been out here long, I asked?”
“I’ve been out here all day, pretty much,” she replied. “I live in a friend’s car over there across the street at the Flying J,” she pointed. “But now that it’s dark, I figured I’d try to warm up a bit before heading over and calling it a night.”
“It must get very cold for you at night,” I offered.
“Oh it gets very cold,” she replied. “And it doesn’t help that the passenger side window doesn’t roll up all the way! Although the past few nights have felt quite warm compared to last week with the snow.” She paused. “He keeps me warm, though,” she said, pointing to the dog.
“How long have you been staying in the car?” I asked.
“Oh well let’s see …” she pondered. “It’s gotta be more than a year now. Yeah, probably close to 15 months since I’ve been homeless.”
“That must be very difficult,” I offered softly. “I’m Ellen, by the way,” I said, extending my hand.
“I’m Allison,” she said, offering hers in return. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too,” I said, taking a seat next to her on the cold concrete curb. “If you don’t mind sharing, Allison, I’d really like to hear a little bit about what it’s been like for you over the past year and how you came to this place in your life.”
“Aw naw, I don’t mind sharing at all,” she replied. “Let’s see, where should I start?” she tapped on her coffee cup and looked up toward the stars as she thought about where to begin. “I’m from West Virginia, and a few years back I moved out here to Columbus to try to start a new life and find more opportunity for work.” West Virginia: that would explain the strong mountain drawl I was detecting. “But then that all went to shit pretty quick,” she continued, laughing.
“Things have a way of doing that sometimes, don’t they?” I affirmed.
“They sure do!” she agreed. “Especially for me. Especially for me …” she trailed off.
“Why did you choose Columbus?” I asked. “What was it that brought you here?”
“Well, Columbus is really the place that all of us from West Virginia come if we wanna get away and start over. It’s the closest place with the most to offer, I suppose.”
“Since Columbus didn’t work out, are you trying to get back to West Virginia?”
“No way,” she responded, shaking her head vehemently. “There ain’t nothin’ left for me there. No one I care about … no one who cares about me.” She paused. “I guess I don’t really know where I’m trying to get to. I’m just trying to get by.”
“What would you like to do?” I asked. “I mean, for work — what type of job would you like to do if you could do anything?”
She looked at me, surprised. “Well …” she stumbled. “I really don’t know what I’d do, to be honest.” She paused again. “I guess I’ve never really thought about it, what I would do if I could do anything.”
I felt bad for asking, fearing I touched on a nerve; worrying I’d asked her to be too vulnerable, revealing to me, a stranger, that she really didn’t have any hopes or dreams. “Do you ever stay in a shelter?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“I would, but they don’t allow dogs. And I can’t get rid of my dog.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “Seems like you have a good friend there. And good friends are hard to come by in life, aren’t they?” She nodded, knowingly. “I’ve learned the hard way that when you find them, it’s best not to let them go.”
“Tell me about it,” she said. “What about you?” she asked, looking up expectantly. “What’s your story?” she asked genuinely as she took another sip from her coffee.
“My story?” I pondered. “Well … I guess I’m not sure where to start, either!” We laughed. “I guess my story right now is that I am headed back home to New England after spending Thanksgiving with my family in Indiana. My husband and I are trying to make it as far as we can tonight, and then we’ll finish the rest of the drive tomorrow.” I left out the part about how we planned to get a hotel along the way, not wanting to call attention to how easy it would be for us to afford that.
“But I can identify with you a bit when you say that you moved somewhere and it just didn’t work out the way that you had planned,” I continued.
“Where did you move?” she asked.
I laughed. “Believe it or not — China!”
“China?! Why did you move there?” she asked, surprised.
I explained that we moved for my husband’s job, but declined to go into much detail on the nature of his work, or mine, not wanting us to seem overly accomplished or ambitious, since she had all but just admitted to me that she was neither. “But living there was hard,” I continued. “Every day we lived there we wished that we were back home. Most of the time, we wished we’d never moved at all,” I admitted.
“So I know what it’s like to be blindsided and left disappointed by a move,” I said. “But I’m sorry, I don’t know what it is like to be homeless. Thank you for sharing that part of your story with me. It helps me to understand a bit more of who you are.”
“Well thank you for taking the time to stop and listen,” she said. “You know, people pass me every day, and I just wonder what they’re thinking about me; how they might be judging me.”
“I can’t imagine how that must feel for you,” I sympathized.
“Allison, I know your sign is put away for the evening and you’re not asking for help,” I continued. “But if my husband and I could do one thing to help you tonight, what would that be? What do you need right now that we could help you with, if you’d allow us?”
She paused and hesitated. “Well, I -” she stuttered. “Just talking to me is good enough. I really appreciate it. Like I said, we have the car to stay in across the street, so we’re lucky, you know, we have a roof over our heads.”
I smiled. “I’m very glad to hear that you have the car. What will you do when it gets colder?” I asked.
“Well, sometimes, if we have enough money, we stay down the street at the America’s Best Value Inn because they’re the only place that will allow dogs. They’re pretty reasonable.”
“Well, I know you said you can’t think of anything you need right now, but we just wanted to share with you a bit to help you out somewhere down the line, whenever you do find that you need something,” I said, subtly extending my hand to offer her some cash. “How you use it is up to you. We have no expectations or conditions. I really just wanted to take the time to let you know that you are seen and to take a minute to get to know you a bit, too.”
“Well thank you both very much,” she responded, inconspicuously taking my hand and accepting the money. “I hope you both have a safe trip back to Connecticut.”
“Yes, thank you!” I replied. “We certainly have a long road ahead of us. I suppose everyone does, if we think about it.” I stood to leave. “Take care, Allison. It was great talking to you. And God bless.”
“God bless you, too,” she replied. “Safe travels!”
What would you do in this situation?
Would you have stopped to to talk to Allison? Would you have ignored the fact that she was there? Would you have tossed some money or some food at her on your way in or out of the gas station convenience store?
How do you respond when you see a person in need? And, would you answer differently if I asked, how should you respond when you see a person in need?
These are not easy questions to answer, and we should not take them lightly. There is much to consider when helping someone in need: What is it that they really need? How I can I preserve their dignity while also showing them compassion? Am I just offering them a band-aid that keeps them living in need instead of helping to empower them to rise out of their point of crisis?
It’s also important to be self-aware and acknowledge why it is we are really interested in helping this person. Is it because we feel guilty that we have much when they have little? Is it because we believe it’s the right thing to do, even though we don’t feel like doing it? Is it so that we can feel good about ourselves or receive praise from others? Or is our action motivated simply out of love for a person in need?
People often express to me their desire to help people in need, particularly the homeless, but are at a loss for how to go about doing it.
Here’s a list of things to consider when approaching someone who is experiencing homelessness:
- What is it they really need? Do they really need that McDonald’s Value Meal you swung by and picked up for them? Do they really need whatever leftover food you have from your lunch that day? Or do they need a place to stay that night? Do they need a job? Do they need clean, presentable clothes to wear to a job interview? Take some time to find out.
- What is it they are asking for? Read the sign. If they’re asking for help finding work, don’t hand them food.
- How did they get in this position? And what will help get them out? Maybe you or someone you know has resources available that can help them to move forward. Sharing those connections with them may go much further than just offering them some money or some food.
- What’s their story? Don’t be afraid to have a conversation with them first before you determine how you will help. Approach them as a human being, as an equal; don’t treat them like a project or a nuisance. Engage with them genuinely and listen to them. Connect.
- What’s your motivation? Don’t do this for you, do it for them.
I can’t tell you who you should reach out to and who you shouldn’t. I can’t tell you how to reach out to them, either. That’s something you have to figure out and a risk you’ll have to take. But I can tell you it’s important to be genuine. I can tell you that if you are a Christ-follower, we are called to respond to the physical, emotional, and spiritual needs of others. Not when we’re ready. Not when we have time. Not when we’ve saved up enough money for ourselves that we feel we can now comfortably start sharing with others. Now. We can’t help everyone, certainly. But I think most of us are doing far too little for far too few.
What holds you back from reaching out to people like Allison in their time of need?
