Just A Wino....

Dallas Holm – Rise Again
 Dallas Holm – Come Unto Jesus
It was raining that day. I remember that. I was standing at a MARTA bus stop, waiting for a bus to take me back to my dorm at Georgia Baptist Nursing School in Atlanta. As I waited there, I noticed something disturbing. A man was on the ground near the sign for the stop, a dirty brown coat partially covering him as he lay there, apparently sleeping.  Several other people milled around, not seeming to notice him, and I wondered if he was hurt, or maybe dying. Straight from the country in Pine Mountain, I wasn't yet familiar with the street scene in busy Atlanta. I walked over to him and knelt down, trying to see if he needed help. He grunted incoherently, and just rolled over away from me. The bus rolled up about that time and I saw the other people casually stepping over him, as if he were just trash. My heart broke wide open. I hesitated as I stepped onto the bus. The driver motioned impatiently for me to come on in.

"But, sir, that man,there's a man lying there," I stammered, tears stuck in my throat. I pointed to the man lying on the ground. I will never for the rest of my life forget that driver's response. He simply nodded, shrugged, and said, very curtly, "He's just a wino."

Just a wino. The words reverberated off my heart, cutting sharp. I knew they were four words I would never forget.

 I glanced back as we drove off, leaving him there. I could hardly bear the pain that rose up within me. Just a wino. My soul shrank within me and I knew that the driver was very, very wrong.

God spoke into my spirit, and I touched the driver's arm when it was my turn to get off the bus. I knew he would think I was crazy, but I could not be silent. God had spoken to me and I had to share what He had said to me.

"Sir, that man back there, that man is not just a wino," I said, so nervous my voice trembled. I kept talking, even as my words clung together and hung there in the air as he waited more impatiently than before.  "Or at least he wasn't always just a wino. At one time, he was someone's little boy. And he might be someone's father. But he is definitely more than just a wino."

I don't think I convinced that MARTA driver, but something shifted inside of me that day. I believe that is the very day that God placed a burden and love in my heart for the homeless. Something caught and tore at me as I thought of that man on the street. I could imagine him in a different time and place: I could see him, dirty face suddenly young, eyes shining as he raced up to his mother to hand her his prized treasures...plain stones, live frogs, interesting sticks. I could see him as an awkward teenager, asking his first girl out for a school dance. I could see him standing at an altar, his heart in his hands, proud and smiling down at his bride, and I could see him bending over the cradle of his first newborn child. I will never know that man's name, and he is probably not even alive now, all these years later. But I will never forget him. He mattered to me, that rainy day in Atlanta, and he mattered to God. That thing I know is true.

And God has allowed me to see that truth close up. I have never had to live on the streets, but I have been without a home, more than once in my life. I have slept in my car night after night, with my young daughter beside me and our dogs and cats huddled in the back. I have slept in the houses of caring family and friends when I didn't have a job or a way to pay for rent. I'm not proud of those times in my life, but I acknowledge them with gratitude, because I learned, in those lonely moments, that God cared about me more than I cared about myself, and that He would never leave me, no matter what my life looked like, or whether or not I was good enough, pretty enough, rich enough, no matter how I looked on the outside.

To this day, I cannot bear to witness a human being or an animal living without the shelter and warmth of a home. I carry dry pet food in my trunk, so that when I see stray animals, I have something to offer them. I have to, because when I see it, I am compelled to help, even if it is only one small meal. It is harder with humans. I sometimes give money, but more often, I just get to a quiet place and pray for them. Sometimes I feel safe to hand out fast food sandwiches: There once were some men who used to hang out at a gas station near my job. I used to take roast beef sandwiches to them, and one of them, who actually grew tomatoes out behind the store, would often offer me a small tomato from his spindly vine.

The thing is, we are called to serve one another. We are called, each and everyone of us, to love the poor, to reach out to those less fortunate than us. We don't have to pack our bags and move to Guatemala. We don't have to go every week to take sack lunches to people living under bridges. But those are great ministries, and if we can go, we should. We can also get down on our knees, open up our hearts, and pray. Pray real prayers, not empty ones. Pray the kinds of prayers that make us uncomfortable, because they are going to require some action from us. Pray the kinds of prayers that make us cry. It's okay to cry for others. Some folks, some "winos", some homeless, some broken souls, have no one in this world to care about them, and they have forgotten how to pray for themselves.

Just a wino. Just a divorcee. Just a single mom. Just an addict. Just a workaholic. Just an anorexic. Just a mentally ill person.

We are all just something, and He loves us all just the same.
Thank God for that love. It is what will save us in the end.