It was dark and chilly when I left work this evening. I wanted to go home but I knew that I had to get gas and make a quick trip to the grocery store. This town that I grew up in continues to swell and so I had to fight my way through the traffic that has become all too familiar.
Walking out of the store, I saw him. Stan. Stan the Window Man as he calls himself. I am surprised to see him. It has been at least a few years. He was a prominent fixture around Riverside establishments. I would see him at various places such as Blockbuster, Ralph's, the Post Office, always with his bottle of generic blue cleaning solution and crumpled newspapers. Tonight, he sits on a folding chair, and the years, the years haven't been kind.
I was truly happy to see him. I greet him by name and ask him how he has been, where he has been. I rarely carry cash, but I pull out a dollar from the bottom of my purse. He thanks me and tells me that he knows a woman who lets him stay at her house and do his laundry for $30 a day. I wish him well. I bless him in God's name.
As I put my groceries in the trunk, I think if there was anything I could give to him. I looked over at the store entrance and can hear him asking for change. I hear his robust laugh as he interacts with the people that will either ignore him, or toss some change at him. Then, I see security drive by and threaten to have him removed. It hits me. A jacket. Go home and get him a jacket.
I drive quickly. I find the warm one in the closet. The one with a hood. I pray that he is still there in the ten minute round trip. I park and walk swiftly to where he sat. "Stan, I brought you something," I said with a little too much enthusiasm for a used coat. I held it up and helped him put it on, like I would for my boys when they were little. I murmured that I hope it fit. Stan was thrilled and expressed it in his booming voice. "Oooooh, wheeeee! I needed a jacket. Thank you, baby! Thank you! This is so great" Stan zipped it up. It couldn't have fit more perfectly.
Stan opened his arms wide and with such gratitude as he said, "Give me a hug." And in that moment, I felt like I was with Jesus, in His embrace. In that moment, I felt such joy.
I told Stan that I hoped I'd see him again. I turned reluctantly to return to my car. I honestly didn't want to leave. Just before I got into my car, I hear him exclaim, "God is good!" Tears welled in my eyes. As I drove down the aisle, Stan saw me. He held his hand high to acknowledge me. His broken benediction and I swore I could hear the words, "Well done, good and faithful servant."
And wasn't I just asking to be set apart? Is this what working it all out, this salvation, looks like? This story I share isn't to make me seem like some kind of sanctimonious saint. There is nothing innately good in me. This story is shared to give a little bit of encouragement. And a story to say that God is so good.
I will leave you all with a saying from Mother Teresa: "We can do no great things, only small things with great love." xo.
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