No one is normal, because normal doesn't exist. Despite this reality, most of us still have some sort of amorphous idea of normality. So do the men in the shelter.
When I was still working on becoming a volunteer at the shelter, the case manager told me one day how the guys like to visit with volunteers who come into the shelter. They told him they like to talk to normal people. Apparently having a residence is "normal" to some of them.
It should be.
And no, the men in the shelter are not normal by any stretch of the imagination. Neither are they abnormal. Rather, they are extraordinary.
I am continually struck by how the men care for me. It is a missional cliché to say how the ones to whom you attempt to minister become ministers to you. I didn't go to the shelter as any sort of missionary. I just wanted to help and love. In turn, I have, of course, received help and love.
It wasn't right from the beginning, but pretty early on some of the guys started commenting on how I was different from a lot of the workers they've encountered. They started with surprise, asking me why I was there and why I did what I did. Then they lost any shyness when it came to gratitude. More recently, they've stated a desire to do things for me. In the span of one week, two different men said they wanted to do something for me.
Pie Tin
One--a peer of mine--brought me leftovers from a dinner prepared for the homeless, because he knew I was sitting in the shelter waiting to eat. This same man gave me a box of snacks someone gave him, a box of snacks he doesn't like. I suggested he leave the box out for the rest of the men, but he wanted me to have them, because of what I do for him.
And what did I do for him? Stay a little late in the mornings. Come a little early in the evening. Let him watch TV with me. Drive him around town when he needed to file a police report for his stolen scooter.
Yes, I did things for him. He was my friend. I didn't do anything truly special. I treated him like a normal human being and found out he was extraordinary. As of today, he has moved to a different shelter in the area.
Papaw
An older gentleman at the shelter took a real liking to me over the course of our time together. One of the other guys at the shelter told me he is just a loner. He does keep to himself a bit. He obviously can fend for himself. But he isn't antisocial, either. He was often a little grumpy, but no more than should be expected of an older man who has been homeless for a while.
It didn't take long for him to warm up to me. We aren't the closest of friends, but our relationship is what can be expected of two men with an age difference of 30 or more years. He isn't about to watch Futurama or Family Guy in the office with me, but we still shoot the bull some.
He constantly expresses gratitude, praising me much more than I deserve. Recently he said, "I don't know how I'm ever going to repay you."
He said it as I was walking out the door and I didn't stop, since I didn't really know how to respond. I thought about what he said while outside and I had one of the moments where I fought the tears. I don't want to know how the guys will react if I cry in front of them.
When I came back inside, he hadn't gone far, so I responded to him. I don't remember exactly what I said, something pithy, I'm sure. "You don't need to do anything to repay," probably. I'm sure my tone communicated more than my words, but still reflected how I was struck dumbfound, although the shock-and-awe revealed truth, too. My tone said, "I never expected anything. Just being here is reward enough. I won't thank you for being in the shelter--I wish you were not here--but I thank you for letting me come." At least, I hope that is what my tone said.
Man Up, Christian!
Over the course of my stay at the shelter, three different men talked to me about how I looked.
The first was a man on the younger side of being middle-aged. He isn't shy about his Christianity. Knowing I was a Christian, he came up to me one day, pointed at his eyebrow and asked, "What's this?" I smiled and stated the obvious. "I have my ears and eyebrow pierced." He said something about what people will think about me when they see those and what the Bible says. He didn't let me finish responding, ensuring me he was concerned as a Christian brother and because he like me. I thanked him and assured him I was not offended by our difference in opinion.
Littl'un took a fatherly role when he commented on my piercings. He told me I need to look like a man and get the metal out of my face. I couldn't help but laugh. I laughed at the difference in opinion and the joy of receiving his care. I broke some rules for that man, some while he was sober and a few others while he wasn't. It meant the world to that man. You'll hear more about Littl'un another time, as he is one of my favorites. I haven't seen him since Christmas. I hope everything is OK.
The third man commented on my piercings pretty early on. He came in one day and pointed at his ears, which sported two hoops in each ear. He told me he saw my piercings and recently shoved his earrings back through his holes. He looked and sounded so proud to tell me. I can see his face right now and I am still elated to think about it.
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Every man in the shelter is different and each one is in the shelter for a slightly different reason. Don't expect any of them to fit any homeless stereotype you've ever heard. If you try to fit any of them into such a mold, I will probably react negatively. I'll try to stay calm, but no promises.
They are extraordinary men and I can't help but be fond of each and every one of them.
If God is love, then I bring God to the shelter and God finds me there.
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