Salvation Army

Raw emotion.

That is how I would explain my short little trip to the local Salvation Army. I was doing some errands in town and dropped off a box of clothes, books, kitchen items, etc. that I would no longer use. If I think about it long and hard, I would have to admit that it was more to get the things "out of my way" than it was truly to bless someone else. I hate to have to admit it.

All the same, there I stood, at the reception desk.
It was as if my emotion receptors were on "high" and that time stood still. I just soaked it all up.

A lady on a stretcher was being brought in by two paramedics. She was elderly, in her 60s probably, and most likely had no place to call her own. I don't know if the cold weather got to her or some other societal ill, but her eyes....they were lonely.

Then there was the young boy (maybe 12) with the baggy pants and cocked hat, speaking to someone to see if he could be admitted for the night.

"Have you ever spent a night here before?"
"No."
"What is the reason you are here?"
"Well, I can't really stay at home tonight...." (the conversation went something like this).

I tried not to eavesdrop, but my heart was aching.
I thought of my students.
Of my siblings.
Of the many times I had taken for granted the home in which I grew up.

[I started to fill in the form to describe the items in the box I was donating....].

Beside me was a man about my age, carrying a garbage bag full of items, who came in at the same time I did. We exchanged a friendly smile. At first glance, it looked like he might be dropping off a donation as well. I was dead wrong.

"I was unable to check in at the other shelter. They told me to try back after 8pm. Could I leave my stuff here for now?"
"You're going to try back there later?"
"Yes, but I have, you know, all my stuff and I don't want to carry it around. Could I leave it here for now until I know where I will be for the night?"

I passed the completed paper back across the counter, saying, "I know it isn't much, but I hope it can be useful." Even as I spoke the words, I wish I could have snatched them back. I felt my face burn with embarrassment as there was this awkward "knowingness" between me and the man beside me.


I was donating, almost carelessly.
He was checking in, at least temporarily.
The amount I was donating, he owned and was carrying around with him.

It was so strange.
I wish I could have turned to him and had a normal conversation. But it didn't happen.
I turned, we exchanged another knowing smile, and I headed out the door.

And for that moment, I resented the purse over my shoulder, the car keys in my hand, the coat and shoes and clothes that were clean and neat and screamed, "I'm a middle-class citizen."

Sometimes it is hard to reconcile injustice.
I am ever grateful there are so many places that exist to care for people who are temporarily in a hard place / time. Yet it grieves me that there need to be those places. It bothers me that I'm not more conscious of that on a daily basis. It hurts that there is hurt, on all levels.

Come, Lord Jesus!