Margaret/Kathy/Kay and Elsie (or L.C.)

A couple of weeks ago, My First Wife and I got to serve up several meals to some homeless people over there in The Big City. That’s something we do once a month. And we love every minute of it.

We didn’t serve as many as we usually do because that Saturday was the first cool day of the season. And it was a rainy day, too, so most everyone was hunkered down somewhere. For those we did serve, it was real easy to spend a little extra time on a “personal level;” that is, we lingered and talked if it seemed like the thing to do.

My First Wife got to spend some time comforting a young girl in a wheel chair. She said she had just gotten out of the hospital. She said she had a punctured lung and two broken wrists. She said she and her boyfriend (who was pushing her wheelchair) stayed under a bridge. She said “Thank you” for the plate of spaghetti, and “I need that real bad” for the toothbrush and hand lotion. I gave her a knitted navy blue hat that went on her wet hair in a flash. Her boyfriend pushed her across the street and he started feeding her in the bus stop shelter.

Just a few minutes later a beautiful young girl came across the street to me and asked, “Can I get a prayer?” I smiled. I had never heard it put that way before. But have you ever had anyone beg you to pray for her? That’s what her eyes and body language begged of me. She had foul breath. She was wearing a huge yellow coat that should last her through the winter.

I put one hand on her shoulder and gave her a prayer for safety and comfort and warmth and dryness, and asked for the Lord’s grace and mercy to be very near her. My friend in the van gave her a plate of spaghetti. I gave her a pocket full of lotion, toothbrush, toothpaste, aspirin, a comb, some gloves, two pair of socks and a knitted hat. She only said “Thank you,” but her teary eyes and her body language said, “Can I hug you?” She might have, except she had two hands full of spaghetti and tea. I would have adopted her on the spot, but… Twice, on her way back across the street, she looked back at us. I really like it when people seem grateful.

I hope neither one of those girls got beat up that cold, windy night. They are so young. So pretty.

Can you believe this! We were under a bridge feeding up some fellows when another homeless man with a duffle bag came up to us and said, "Hey, you want this? I found 'em out on a sidewalk. Somebody just tossed 'em out." He had a duffle bag full of coats, gloves and hats. "I already took what I need, but somebody else can use the rest of this stuff." We took it and distributed a lot of it along our way.

Even homeless people recognize that "there's always somebody worse off than you."

Down in an industrial neighborhood where the streets are empty on the weekends, we drove slowly, slowly. Finally, we spotted a hungry lady who asked for a second plate “…to take to my old man. He’s laid up. Cain’t get out.” She got some gloves for both of them, and a knitted cap for each. She asked for extra aspirin. “I didn’t get no socks yet. You got any socks?”

We were about to drive away when two women drove up behind us and honked till we got out to plate them up. They were in an ‘80s Chevrolet that somehow managed to roll down the street. I’m convinced that not a part on that vehicle was straight, clean or properly in place.

I asked the driver her name. “Margaret.” I always ask her. “Margaret” and her friend are in the 30s; maybe 40s.

Last month her name was Kathy. And the month before that it was Kay. She’s a neighborhood prostitute and a drug addict. But she’s a nice lady, and she’s a familiar face. I've never seen the other woman before. “This is Elsie (or L.C.),” she said. “She’s staying with me.”

Elsie (or L.C.) wore a thin, loose, pull-over blouse and a dirty mini-skirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra. Her messy hair knarled in every direction. I didn't see any tatoos—and there was plenty of her that I could see.

“How you doing?” she asked me when I handed her a plate of warm spaghetti. I could tell that she was cold. I gave her all kinds of things, including a heavy sweater and one of those coats. She thanked me and asked if she could have some more aspirin—and some more spaghetti.

And Margaret/Kathy/Kay asked if they both could have extra socks. I gave them gloves, too. As she got into the car she said to all of us, "Good to see you again. God bless you."

Staying with Margaret/Kathy/Kay means staying in an abandoned 40-foot trailer, sleeping on several layers of foam things and bundling up in a thin sleeping bag. It’s sort of warm in there and the wind doesn’t bother. During the day, it means staying (and working) in that dangerous wobbling contraption called a car.

The other day I was pouting because I didn't have enough. Whine, whine, whine. I was a little uncomfortable. Then the Lord reminded me of those two nameless girls I got to meet that afternoon. And he mentioned Margaret/Kathy/Kay and Elsie (or L.C.).

Elsie (or L.C.) didn’t have a place to stay. Margaret/Kathy/Kay shared her home, and I think that’s a nice thing. There’s always somebody worse off than you.