Homeless

This morning I woke up even earlier than the previous two, on this long-weekend sojourn to Vancouver. The air was crisp, despite the blue sky and waking sun. I lazily walked the thirty feet that separated the hotel from the Starbucks. I sat, invisibly tethered to my computer, watching and waiting, as words sporadically appeared on the screen. Situated at the corner of Denman and Davie, I could gaze out the window and see the ocean. The cars passing by, along with walkers and joggers provided a rhythmic backdrop to my morning. 

Suddenly, I noticed a man standing on the other side of the window, in front of me, but slightly off to the right. Though I didn’t look up immediately, I could see that he was gesturing. With an uneasy feeling, I took off my glasses, and looked up. He touched his heart with his hand and then pointed it toward me, palm open. My initial thought was that this was a “pick up” gesture. I smirked uncomfortably and looked away. He did not leave. And then, in my mind’s eye, I visualized his face and realized that he was familiar to me. 

Yesterday, my daughter Faven and I got a late start to the day.  Well, truly, she got a late start. I had been up early and writing at Starbucks for a couple of hours when she joined me around 9:30. I got her some breakfast, and we returned to the hotel room to gather our things for the day. By the time we set off, I was hungry for lunch. We left the hotel and headed north on Davie, toward the ocean. We turned right at Denman, knowing that there was a plethora of food vendors on that street. As I rounded the corner, I was passing by a large, curbside tree, and was momentarily spooked when something large moved, right next to my planted foot. I realized it was a man huddled there; I kept walking, taking occasional glances over my shoulder. 

Within the next block, we stopped to enjoy a shwarma, while sitting outside.  I continued to glance down the street to see if the person by the tree was—perhaps just an apparition. He wasn’t. I felt an inner tug to do some small thing to make his day a bit better. After we had eaten, we went back inside and ordered another shwarma; I chose a bottle of juice from the cooler to complete the lunch. We walked back the half-block and I bent down and simply said, “We brought you some lunch”. The man held my hand, and said “Thank you.” He had a vague expression in his eyes that stayed with me for most of the day. 

Faven was moved by the experience, and as she linked her arm through mine, she said, “Thank you Mom”. I thought I could hear tears hanging on her voice, but I could not be certain. I told her that we could not feed everyone in the world who is hungry, but we can feed one person at a time.

This morning, as the man at the window lingered, I realized that it was our lunch guest from yesterday. I looked up again, he pointed to the tree around the corner and then placed his hands in prayer position and bowed ever so gently forward. I sat in awe and humility. He walked on, and so did I; I think we were both standing a little bit taller.