I just returned from walking The Professor in the park near my house. (For those of you who have asked, he is doing fine. Tonight he actually ran a short distance.)
The last two nights I have stopped to talk to a couple who took up residence in the park this week. Now and then I have seen people spending a night in the park, but they usually move on. Recently, though, something has happened. I am seeing the same people regularly sleeping in the park.
There is the woman with the shopping cart, who mutters constantly and seems to be incapable of forming a response to greetings. There is the Indian who reads by the light of a street lamp and then sleeps on a sheltered bench. And then there is the couple I met two days ago. They sleep in the park in sleeping bags because they were evicted from a shelter.
And the shelters are filled. Every bed. When the temperature starts to drop in the evening (soon to slip into the 30s), the park will not be a place to sleep.
Several years ago, I started my own program of meeting what needs I could -- and it is a small gesture. Because I live alone, I almost always have several servings of left overs from each meal. I decided to put them to good use. And it is time I start the program again.
I will warm up the left overs, put them in individual servings containers, and take them to the park. My offer is often rejected -- usually by people who are struggling with medication issues. But, when someone accepts, I sit and eat with them. I have learned many things in these short connections with my neighbors.
The city has warned me not to feed people on the theory that if the people in the park find a place with food, they will not move on -- as if they were a flock of geese. The whole notion seems to be based on the assumption that the people in the park are simply enjoying a little outing. No one could believe such a thing unless they had never experienced the sheer panic of being without money, food, shelter -- or friends.
So, why am I writing this? I am not boasting, but I am concerned. The people in the park are refugees from prosperity. I can only imagine the Ellis Island reenactments as the economy continues to spiral down.
One of the attorneys who works with me told me that a man, woman, and child showed up at her door this weekend and asked for canned foods. She was ready to give them something, but her husband told her "no."
I wish she had given the food. And I hope that each of us when presented with a need will be willing to share.
When I start thinking that our acts of kindness are so little, I am encouraged by one of Mother Teresa's rephrasing of a parable: "Little things are indeed little, but to be faithful in little things is a great thing."
The last two nights I have stopped to talk to a couple who took up residence in the park this week. Now and then I have seen people spending a night in the park, but they usually move on. Recently, though, something has happened. I am seeing the same people regularly sleeping in the park.
There is the woman with the shopping cart, who mutters constantly and seems to be incapable of forming a response to greetings. There is the Indian who reads by the light of a street lamp and then sleeps on a sheltered bench. And then there is the couple I met two days ago. They sleep in the park in sleeping bags because they were evicted from a shelter.
And the shelters are filled. Every bed. When the temperature starts to drop in the evening (soon to slip into the 30s), the park will not be a place to sleep.
Several years ago, I started my own program of meeting what needs I could -- and it is a small gesture. Because I live alone, I almost always have several servings of left overs from each meal. I decided to put them to good use. And it is time I start the program again.
I will warm up the left overs, put them in individual servings containers, and take them to the park. My offer is often rejected -- usually by people who are struggling with medication issues. But, when someone accepts, I sit and eat with them. I have learned many things in these short connections with my neighbors.
The city has warned me not to feed people on the theory that if the people in the park find a place with food, they will not move on -- as if they were a flock of geese. The whole notion seems to be based on the assumption that the people in the park are simply enjoying a little outing. No one could believe such a thing unless they had never experienced the sheer panic of being without money, food, shelter -- or friends.
So, why am I writing this? I am not boasting, but I am concerned. The people in the park are refugees from prosperity. I can only imagine the Ellis Island reenactments as the economy continues to spiral down.
One of the attorneys who works with me told me that a man, woman, and child showed up at her door this weekend and asked for canned foods. She was ready to give them something, but her husband told her "no."
I wish she had given the food. And I hope that each of us when presented with a need will be willing to share.
When I start thinking that our acts of kindness are so little, I am encouraged by one of Mother Teresa's rephrasing of a parable: "Little things are indeed little, but to be faithful in little things is a great thing."
