Morning Coffee

Part of my job as the marketing head of a charity is to talk to people: donors, businesses, media, passersby... Because of that, I spend a LOT of time writing and talking these days. As a regular practice, we send letters out to our major donors once a month. As expected, I'm responsible for finding a way to get them to understand what it's like down here.

There's a huge separation in levels of reality in what I do. I always knew homeless people existed, obviously. Occasionally I would give them a few bucks. Once I bought groceries for a guy on a street corner in Yakima and took them to him.

It's different when you work with them every day; when they become real people and you know their names and they say hi and smile at you. I get angrier these days that people don't do more. Most of us spend our lives either complaining that no one does anything to help or complaining that there is no help. Many of us look away because we can't deal with the guilt of doing nothing. So we ignore it in an effort to not feel that way. Not many people are doers as opposed to complainers. Most people put their blinders on as they walk through downtown. I'm not asking you to give them money. I'm just asking you to nod hello, smile, whatever. Acknowledge that they're human too.

I had an experience recently that made me tear up...so I thought I would share it with my donors (and now you):

This morning, as I walked to work, I met a woman named Brenda. She was sitting on the corner across the street from Bread of Life Mission, in front of a little café I frequent. She asked me if I could give her change for food.

“Why don’t you come in with me and pick out what you want?” I said, as I pointed at the café. Brenda’s face lit up as she arose from the ground and followed me inside.

She picked out two bagels and a banana. She asked me to sit with her while she ate. I think she was worried that, if I wasn't with her, they'd ask her to leave. We sat there silently for a minute, her eating her bagel and me sipping my morning coffee. I spend a lot of time talking to the homeless but, for some reason, sitting across the table like that made it personal, and thus, strangely uncomfortable; like that tiny table separated me from a world I had no right to try to identify with.

The consumate professional and opportunist, I figured I could at least use this opportunity to relay her story. I've been planning a large banquet lately for some of our corporate donors and have been needing personal stories to help people understand.

"What would you do if you had a day where could do whatever you want?" I asked.

Brenda sat for a moment, thinking about the question and chewing a bite of her bagel.

"I’d go shopping and get some pants and a top and I’d take a hot bath and get so clean - I’d scrape off seven layers of dirt. And I'd wash my socks," she said, sticking her feet out from under the table and flexing them in a pidgeon-toed fashion. "My socks are hard as a rock they are so dirty."Brenda touched her hair with her hand. "I’d brush my hair and make it look all shiny and nice and make myself feel pretty." She cried when she talked about feeling pretty. She said it several times…how nice it would be to feel pretty.

We chatted a bit longer while she finished her meal. I wished Brenda a blessed day as I went off to work. I told her about our day shelter and hot meals and the clothing she could come get if she needed it. I know it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. But it’s something. And we ALL have a little time to do something.