A New Neighbor

A few weeks ago, I opened my bathroom window, as I do every morning to let out the steam from the shower, and I looked down into neighbor's backyard.  I knew that the house had been vacant (for rent) for two months so I was a little startled when I saw stuff in the backyard.

At first, I thought that someone had moved in and had started to put their belongings in the backyard.  But after a closer look, I realized what I was actually seeing: a bike with a trailer, a camping chair, a sleeping bag, some tangerines, a bottle of Powerade, and a cell phone being charged in the electrical socket.

And in the sleeping bag - a man.

A man sleeping outside, steps away from my window.

In 30 degree temperatures.

Squatting in my neighbor's vacant yard.

My first reaction was fear.  Who is this person?  What is he doing in my neighbor's yard?  Should I call the police?

My second reaction was compassion.  It was SO cold out there last night.  Should I bring him some coffee?  Should I ask him if he's alright?  Why didn't he break in and sleep inside the house?  I would have slept inside!

My third reaction was confusion.  I don't know anything about this man.  Steve's not home so maybe I shouldn't talk to him in case he's dangerous.  I definitely don't think I want to call the police.  I have no idea what to do.  I think I'll do nothing and just see what happens.
 

Before long, he had woken up, packed up his stuff and was gone.  He came back and slept there again the next night, and the night after that.  Each time, coming after it was dark and leaving first thing in the morning.  Then, I didn't see him for several days.

Last week, he came back again.  By the time I looked out my window to see if he was there, he was already awake and packing up.  I think he must have heard me open the window because he looked up and we made eye contact.  Suddenly, I knew exactly what I needed to do.  I raced downstairs, made him coffee, and put it in a thermos.  By the time I got to the backyard to hand it to him over the fence, he was gone.  Fortunately, the kids and I were already on our way out the door so I put the coffee in the van with us and figured I would look around my neighborhood a bit and give it to him if we saw him.

Sure enough, I found him a half-block away.  We pulled over and I rolled down my window.  "Excuse me sir.  I think you're my new neighbor.  Would you like some coffee?"

He said yes, and that was the start of nice conversation.

I could tell he felt a bit awkward, knowing that I knew where he had been sleeping.  But, in the five minutes we spent talking, he opened up and shared about his recent separation from his wife and his two children (ages 10 and 6) whom he had gotten to see briefly the night before at the McDonald's nearby.  He told me he was trying to "figure something out" for a place to live and that he was going to spend the day collecting aluminum cans for money.  

Suddenly, he was no longer that "homeless guy" squatting behind my house.  Now, he was a person with a face and a story.  He was a dad, with six-year-old son and a ten-year-old daughter.

He thanked me for the coffee and we parted ways.  He hasn't been back since.  Maybe he worries that I'll turn him in if I see him again?  I may never see him again, but I do think about him and wonder how he is doing.  I hope that I will continue to pray for him and his family.  I'm really glad I got the chance to talk to him and to call him "my neighbor."  I hope he heard me use that word because that's what he is!       
 
For too long, I have chosen to ignore the homeless men and women in my neighborhood.  I see them everyday - lying on the sidewalks near the apartments of The GreenHouse, begging for money on the streets of Northgate Blvd, camping along the levee or under the 12th Street Bridge.  And for the most part, I dismiss them.  That's not my "thing."  I have a "heart" for kids, not adults.

Homelessness in America is complicated and it makes me feel uncomfortable.  I don't know the "best practices" for reaching out to men and women who are sleeping outside and I worry about doing things wrong or enabling bad habits.  I wonder: What's the right response when someone asks me for money?  How do I know if he or she mentally ill?  Are they addicted to drugs or alcohol?  What will they do with that money if I give it to them?  There are plenty of agencies working with homeless people, so maybe I should just let them deal with "those people."

Well, thanks to the homeless man sleeping in my neighbor's yard as well as the homeless people that I go to church with every Sunday at Bridge of Life Church, I'm learning that it really doesn't need to be so complicated!

I don't need to give them anything, except my presence.

I need to see them (actually look into their eyes).  I need to hear them (actually listen to their stories and their wisdom).  I need to touch them (actually shake hands with them or sit near them).  I need to love them.   

They are not shadows.  They are not faceless beings.  They are people.  They are children of God, created in His image.

Thank you God, for bringing people like Joseph and Steve and Jen and the man who slept in my neighbor's yard into my life!  Thank you that through them, I learn more about your great love and my own brokenness.