We are all the same

Yesterday I talked to a friend about her relationship with her husband, how he's not treating her as a partner and not being very thoughtful in regards to her feelings. I celebrated voting with several other friends, pointing at our similar 'I Voted' stickers and smiling, knowing we had participated in something so much bigger than ourselves. I laughed as a friend teased me with a silly joke and then smiled big. I hugged a friend who's dog waited patiently nearby, tied to a tree, waiting in the morning sun. I listened as a friend told me that another friend might have passed away but he wasn't sure because he hadn't seen him in a while (a quick check with someone in the know - he hadn't, he's tucked safely away in a Motel 6 in Hollywood). I listened as a friend retold the story of me telling him he had a very unique style, the pride on his face beaming from his smile. 

These friends were all guests at the Homeless Lunch at Hollywood United Methodist Church I volunteer for on Tuesdays. We pass out sack lunches, hygiene products, new socks, donated clothing, and reading materials. And all of these things are important, sometimes vitally so. But what's just as important, what mattered more yesterday, was the friendship shared.

I read about homelessness every single day in the newspapers. I hear politicians talk about how we're going to solve this problem. How we're going to get rid of this blight on our nation's cities. And then I head over to the corner of Hollywood and Highland on Tuesdays and I'm reminded that this isn't just a problem to be solved. Homelessness is about people. It's about human beings who have opinions and feelings and relationships and who love and care just as much about me as I do about them.

I cannot tell you the joy I experience when a Lunch guest comes up to our gates on a Tuesday morning and greets me by name. Yes, I wear an official name tag. No, that doesn't matter. Most of them know me when I see them on the street the other six days out of the week. I cannot tell you the joy I experience when the same little old lady teases me for the hundredth time about getting tuna-chicken because I say the menu items so quickly they sometimes run together. It took me a few weeks to realize she was teasing me and now I come to anticipate her quick sly smile as she repeats the joke. 

I cannot tell you how my heart sings when a guest comes in and tells us he needs a suit, he has a job interview in a few hours, as happened yesterday. He's been a regular for a while now, and yesterday he explained he'd lost his job and his apartment after a medical emergency and he is confident now that he's well he's going to get back on his feet. We were able to send him off with two suits that fit perfectly (we don't have much call for suits so we have a surplus) and two shirts that matched so stylishly (there had been a ten minute styling session to determine which looks matched best). I hope to hear how the interviews went next week but part of me hopes, just like Ben at the end of Good Will Hunting didn't want Matt to show up, that I never see him again. I will imagine him at his new job, eating a hot lunch, passing the goodwill on to the next person. 

I get so much from these relationships that have formed over two-hour periods once a week for the past eight years, give or take a year here or there. To me, these people are not 'homeless'. They are people. No qualifiers needed. They are not some mysterious, odorous bunch that needs to be remedied. It's true, we need to do so much more as a society. We need to have mental health care, physical health care, affordable housing, so much more. The sheer thought of all that needs to be done brings me to tears. 

But we also need to know that these people are you and me. So many of us are a health problem or a lost paycheck or a bad investment away from not having enough to eat, not having a roof to call our own. So many of us are sick just as so many of our guests are. I truly believe that any of us could be in that lunch line, at any time. And that thought crushes my spirit. And yet? It also brightens my heart.

My Tuesday friends are important to me. They are a part of my life. Two weeks ago Angela and I found out a friend of ours who's a member of our church congregation as well as a Tuesday regular had possibly passed away. It was a Sunday morning when we learned the news and we stood in the courtyard at church with two other friends and we cried. We prayed. We asked that God take care of him wherever he was and whatever was happening. Thankfully, after a few phone calls, we were able to track him down. He'd been moved to a treatment facility an hour outside of town because he'd been so ill. This is a friend who I've driven to doctor's appointments, sat with at the hospital, made molasses cookies for, laughed with, shared reading lists with, talked about my parents and his parents with, gotten London travel tips from. This is a friend who, after Alan Rickman passed away, wanted to share his stories of having worked with him back in England. This is a friend who, just like me, has dreams of being a screenwriter. This is me. I am him. We are both human beings with dreams and hearts and spirits full of hope. And the only difference? I'm not sure how our life circumstances worked out so that I would not be exactly where he is. In this life, we are all in it together.

I am thankful for these people in my life. I am blessed by each and every experience I have with them, the good and the not so good. I see humanity most clearly when I look into the clouded eyes of the man standing before me, so heartbroken that he disappointed us by his behavior the week before while waiting for lunch that tears form in the tiny corners of his eyes. Yesterday as I asked him what kind of fruit he wanted he could barely look at me. And that only made me soften my voice that much more, smile that much more brightly and make sure I put my hand on his arm as I told him to have a good week. Because when I disappoint those people in my life who love me, and I'm sure that I do with regularity, I can only hope to be treated with a similar type of compassion and love. 

We all deserve love. We are all the same. I hope never to forget that.