A person may come into our lives for just a brief time, and maybe they will share a bit of their story. Sometimes we have the good fortune of meeting time and time again with someone, and we begin to learn how the woven tapestry of their stories and lives has molded them into the unique person they have become.

Back when our family was smaller in number and my children were young, we would gather blankets and coats and gloves and socks, make lots of sandwiches and cookies, and head into Baltimore City. We would park under some bridges on I-83, open up the back of the van, and hand out all the clothes and food we had. Then head back home.

A few years ago, we headed back to that same area around I-83 and Gay Street. This time, we invited some teens that I was working with. Everyone pitched in some money, a few of us put together about 50 bagged dinners, we purchased cases of water, gloves and socks, and we gathered donated coats and blankets. There was an important difference on this visit though. We wouldn’t just hand things out. Instead, we explained that it was important to make eye contact, ask names and shake hands with the people we would meet.

Seventeen of us split up into groups and set out to share and listen. We met Hyman, an older gentleman with a fantastic smile, He was sitting among a pile of blankets. I stooped down as we were talking, noticed a wheelchair, and asked if it was his. He pulled back a filthy blanket that was spread across his lap and revealed that he had no legs. I asked what had happened and he shared that in 2008 he had been run over by the light rail. Then, with a big smile he said, “But I don’t remember it. I cracked my skull, broke my neck and back and ribs…” He continued to explain his injuries but I don’t remember the rest because I could only think, “Why is this guy sitting here, living here, under a bridge – on concrete – in the winter?”  And yet, as we continued to talk, he just expressed how thankful he was. And he just kept on smiling.

Next to Hyman was a man that was quite a talker. We learned that he was once a lawyer. Another young man walked up. He was ‘cleaner’ looking, and we found out that he had just gotten off work at McDonald’s.

The lady next to them wasn’t as talkative, but she desperately wanted as much food and drink as we would give to her. When she stood up, a stroller was revealed as her seat.

Buck and Bryce and Kara and many more people, many more stories. Going back week after week, we witnessed how difficult their lives were. Some weeks as we greeted them by name, they only rolled their heads our way with bleary, bloodshot eyes. No emotion, no recognition. We met new people each time; others we never saw again.

In one sense, we are so like those we meet living on the streets. My family often lives paycheck to paycheck. We could lose our jobs and quickly lose our house. And yet, with our network of family and friends, I honestly don’t see us ending up homeless and on the streets. But the people we have met have used up their help and have eventually ended up on the streets. For those who haven’t been there too long, they are quick to to say they won’t be there long. But for others, who have been there awhile, they seem to have lost hope in getting off the streets.

Baltimore has thousands of homeless, and our homeless are ‘real people’, made in God’s image. He loves them and we can love them, too. He told us to feed my sheep, obviously meaning to share Him and His Word… truth and hope and love. Life gets busy. It’s messy and overwhelming at times, but we can slow down, step into someone else’s life and listen to their story. There’s no easy answer or fix, but a smile and a handshake or hug, and a listening ear – along with helping to meet physical needs – can be more encouraging than you may ever know. We are Made to Love. One person at a time.