the Homeless

I gotta admit, I'm an uber-compassionate one. So generally, when I see someone down on there luck, I instantly want to help. My friend Don (Grand Rapids) told me once that this was because I had a heart the size of his office. I wish this was as much a complement today as it was back then. My super-sized heart gets me into a lot of interesting situations with enormous potential to wound it for a while to come. Because of this compassion, it might be able to assume that I am drawn to the homeless. Unfortunately, I must admit that most homeless people make me nervous. You have no idea how sad this makes me, but it's true. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about serving those who are homeless or don't have everything they should have, but I can't do it alone.

Last winter, while working at the Well, I had several "encounters" with a homeless man who was one step shy of being committed. From the get-go he showed signs of aggression, but we did our best to give the guy some company and warm drinks. Eventually, things got out of hand and one night he got hostile with me, threatening me. One of the wellers called the police (who came and rescued me!) and the church (who owns the building we use for the well) got a restraining order against him, banning him from all church property.

This winter things have been relatively calm. Except for tonight. Tonight I wasn't even working at the Well. Tonight I had hoped to sit down outside before we opened and read. But there was a homeless man outside and he started talking. And then crying. And then invading my personal space. Proceeding to tell me that he would protect me and give me whatever I needed and it kept getting more and more creepy from there.

Eventually I decide that it is safer for me to be inside the well, so I go in and make sure the door is locked behind me. Just a few minutes later I hear him knocking on the door and trying to get in. I shout that we aren't open yet and he asks if he can come in anyway. No, I said. He says something else and I decide to just walk away eventually, he stepped away from the door.
I thought that would be the end of it, but just in case, I call the guy who was suppose to open and he tells me he'll be there soon. Sweet. I look up and the man is now trying to get in from the front door. So from that point on I sat on our kitchen floor, hidden from the view of windows and doors and called a friend of mine on vacation. He and some of his buddies talk with me until the opening guy arrived.

But the saga doesn't end there. Oh no, it continues. The man comes in a bit later and starts talking to me and Red (this big, dad looking fellow who works at the well) comes around the corner and takes over the convo. The guy weeps and gets loud and it was just hard to handle. But Red did a good job. And I'm still alive. Always a bonus.

That's pretty much the story.