29-05-2005, 08:54 AM
He was kind of scary. He sat there on the grass with his cardboard
sign, his dog (actually his dog was adorable) and tattoos running up
and down both arms and even on his neck. His sign proclaimed him to
be "stuck and hungry" and to please help. I'm a sucker for anyone
needing help. My husband both hates and loves this quality in me.
I pulled the van over and in my rear-view mirror, contemplated this
man, tattoos and all. He was youngish, maybe forty. He wore one of
those bandanas tied over his head, biker/pirate style. Anyone could
see he was dirty and had a scraggly beard. But if you looked closer,
you could see that he had neatly tucked in the black T-shirt, and his
things were in a small, tidy bundle. Nobody was stopping for him. I
could see the other drivers take one look and immediately focus on
something else - anything else. It was so hot out. I could see in
the man's very blue eyes how dejected and tired and worn-out he felt.
The sweat was trickling down his face. As I sat with the
air-conditioning blowing, the scripture suddenly popped into my head.
"In as much as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren,
so ye have done it unto me."
I reached down into my purse and extracted a ten dollar bill. My
twelve-year old son, Nick knew right away what I was doing. "Can I
take it to him, Mom?" "Be careful, honey." I warned and handed him
the money. I watched in the mirror as he rushed over to the man, and
with a shy smile, handed it to him. I saw the man, startled, stand
and take the money, putting it into his back pocket. "Good," I thought
to myself, "now he will at least have a hot meal tonight." I felt
satisfied, proud of myself. I had made a sacrifice and now I could
go on with my errands. When Nick got back into the car, he looked at
me with sad, pleading eyes. "Mom, his dog looks so hot and the man is
really nice." I knew I had to do more. "Go back and tell him to stay
there, that we will be back in fifteen minutes," I told Nick. He
bounded out of the car and ran to tell the tattooed stranger. We then
ran to the nearest store and bought our gifts carefully.
"It can't be too heavy," I explained to the children. "He has to be
able to carry it around with him." We finally settled on our purchases.
A bag of "Ol' Roy" (I hoped it was good - it looked good enough for me
to eat! How do they make dog food look that way?); a flavored chew-toy shaped like a bone; a water dish, bacon flavored snacks (for the dog); two bottles of water (one for the dog, one for Mr. Tattoos); and some people snacks for the man.
We rushed back to the spot where we had left him, and there he was,
still waiting. And still nobody else was stopping for him. With hands
shaking, I grabbed our bags and climbed out of the car, all four of my
children following me, each carrying gifts. As we walked up to him, I
had a fleeting moment of fear, hoping he wasn't a serial killer, I
looked into his eyes and saw something that startled me and made me
ashamed of my judgment. I saw tears. He was fighting like a little
boy to hold back his tears. How long had it been since someone showed this man kindness?
I told him I hoped it wasn't too heavy for him to carry and showed him
what we had brought. He stood there, like a child at Christmas, and I
felt like my small contributions were so inadequate. When I took out
the water dish, he snatched it out of my hands as if it were solid gold
and told me he had had no way to give his dog water. He gingerly set it
down, filled it with the bottled water we brought, and stood up to look
directly into my eyes. His were so blue, so intense and my own filled
with tears as he said "Ma'am, I don't know what to say." He then put
both hands on his bandana-clad head and just started to cry. This man, this "scary" man, was so gentle, so sweet, so humble. I smiled through my tears and said "Don't say anything." Then I noticed the tattoo on his neck. It said "Mama tried." As we all piled into the van and drove away, he was on his knees, arms around his dog, kissing his nose and smiling. I waved cheerfully and then fully broke down in tears.
I have so much. My worries seem so trivial and petty now. I have a
home, a loving husband, four beautiful children. I have a bed. I wondered where he would sleep tonight. My step-daughter, Brandie turned to me and said in the sweetest little-girl voice, "I feel so good." Although it seemed as if we had helped him, the man with the tattoo gave us a gift that I will never forget. He taught that no matter what the outside looks like, inside each of us is a human being deserving of kindness, of compassion, of acceptance. He opened my heart. Tonight and every night I will pray for the gentle man with the tattoos and his dog. And I will hope that God will send more people like him into my life to remind me what's really important.
sign, his dog (actually his dog was adorable) and tattoos running up
and down both arms and even on his neck. His sign proclaimed him to
be "stuck and hungry" and to please help. I'm a sucker for anyone
needing help. My husband both hates and loves this quality in me.
I pulled the van over and in my rear-view mirror, contemplated this
man, tattoos and all. He was youngish, maybe forty. He wore one of
those bandanas tied over his head, biker/pirate style. Anyone could
see he was dirty and had a scraggly beard. But if you looked closer,
you could see that he had neatly tucked in the black T-shirt, and his
things were in a small, tidy bundle. Nobody was stopping for him. I
could see the other drivers take one look and immediately focus on
something else - anything else. It was so hot out. I could see in
the man's very blue eyes how dejected and tired and worn-out he felt.
The sweat was trickling down his face. As I sat with the
air-conditioning blowing, the scripture suddenly popped into my head.
"In as much as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren,
so ye have done it unto me."
I reached down into my purse and extracted a ten dollar bill. My
twelve-year old son, Nick knew right away what I was doing. "Can I
take it to him, Mom?" "Be careful, honey." I warned and handed him
the money. I watched in the mirror as he rushed over to the man, and
with a shy smile, handed it to him. I saw the man, startled, stand
and take the money, putting it into his back pocket. "Good," I thought
to myself, "now he will at least have a hot meal tonight." I felt
satisfied, proud of myself. I had made a sacrifice and now I could
go on with my errands. When Nick got back into the car, he looked at
me with sad, pleading eyes. "Mom, his dog looks so hot and the man is
really nice." I knew I had to do more. "Go back and tell him to stay
there, that we will be back in fifteen minutes," I told Nick. He
bounded out of the car and ran to tell the tattooed stranger. We then
ran to the nearest store and bought our gifts carefully.
"It can't be too heavy," I explained to the children. "He has to be
able to carry it around with him." We finally settled on our purchases.
A bag of "Ol' Roy" (I hoped it was good - it looked good enough for me
to eat! How do they make dog food look that way?); a flavored chew-toy shaped like a bone; a water dish, bacon flavored snacks (for the dog); two bottles of water (one for the dog, one for Mr. Tattoos); and some people snacks for the man.
We rushed back to the spot where we had left him, and there he was,
still waiting. And still nobody else was stopping for him. With hands
shaking, I grabbed our bags and climbed out of the car, all four of my
children following me, each carrying gifts. As we walked up to him, I
had a fleeting moment of fear, hoping he wasn't a serial killer, I
looked into his eyes and saw something that startled me and made me
ashamed of my judgment. I saw tears. He was fighting like a little
boy to hold back his tears. How long had it been since someone showed this man kindness?
I told him I hoped it wasn't too heavy for him to carry and showed him
what we had brought. He stood there, like a child at Christmas, and I
felt like my small contributions were so inadequate. When I took out
the water dish, he snatched it out of my hands as if it were solid gold
and told me he had had no way to give his dog water. He gingerly set it
down, filled it with the bottled water we brought, and stood up to look
directly into my eyes. His were so blue, so intense and my own filled
with tears as he said "Ma'am, I don't know what to say." He then put
both hands on his bandana-clad head and just started to cry. This man, this "scary" man, was so gentle, so sweet, so humble. I smiled through my tears and said "Don't say anything." Then I noticed the tattoo on his neck. It said "Mama tried." As we all piled into the van and drove away, he was on his knees, arms around his dog, kissing his nose and smiling. I waved cheerfully and then fully broke down in tears.
I have so much. My worries seem so trivial and petty now. I have a
home, a loving husband, four beautiful children. I have a bed. I wondered where he would sleep tonight. My step-daughter, Brandie turned to me and said in the sweetest little-girl voice, "I feel so good." Although it seemed as if we had helped him, the man with the tattoo gave us a gift that I will never forget. He taught that no matter what the outside looks like, inside each of us is a human being deserving of kindness, of compassion, of acceptance. He opened my heart. Tonight and every night I will pray for the gentle man with the tattoos and his dog. And I will hope that God will send more people like him into my life to remind me what's really important.