He was scary. He sat on the grass with his cardboard sign, his dog (actually his
dog was adorable) and tattoos running up and down both arms and even on his
neck. His sign proclaimed him to be "stuck and hungry" and to please help.
I'm a sucker for anyone needing help. My husband both loves and hates this
quality in me. It often makes him nervous, and I knew if he saw me right now,
he’d be nervous. But he wasn’t with me right now.
I pulled the van over and in my rear-view mirror, contemplated this man, tattoos
and all. He was youngish, maybe forty. He wore one of those bandannas tied over
his head, biker/pirate style. Anyone could see he was dirty and had a scraggly
beard. But if you looked closer, you could see that he had neatly tucked in the
black T-shirt, and his things were in a small, tidy bundle. Nobody was stopping
for him. I could see the other drivers take one look and immediately focus on
something else - anything else.
It was so hot out. I could see in the man's very blue eyes how dejected and
tired and worn-out he felt. The sweat was trickling down his face. As I sat with
the air-conditioning blowing, the scripture suddenly popped into my head.
"Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these, my brethren, so ye
have done it unto me."
I reached down into my purse and extracted a ten-dollar bill. My twelve-year old
son, Nick knew right away what I was doing. "Can I take it to him, Mom?"
"Be careful, honey." I warned and handed him the money. I watched in the mirror
as he rushed over to the man, and with a shy smile, handed it to him. I saw the
man, startled, stand up and take the money, putting it into his back pocket.
"Good," I thought to myself, "now he will at least have a hot meal tonight." I
felt satisfied, proud of myself. I had made a sacrifice and now I could go on
with my errands.
When Nick got back into the car, he looked at me with sad, pleading eyes. "Mom,
his dog looks so hot and the man is really nice." I knew I had to do more.
"Go back and tell him to stay there, that we will be back in fifteen minutes," I
told Nick. He bounded out of the car and ran to tell the tattooed stranger. I
could see the man was surprised, but nodded his agreement. From my car, my heart
did a little flip-flop of excitement.
We then ran to the nearest store and bought our gifts carefully. "It can't be
too heavy," I explained to the children. "He has to be able to carry it around
with him." We finally settled on our purchases. A bag of "Ol' Roy" (I hoped it
was good - it looked good enough for me to eat! How do they make dog food look
that way?); a flavored chew-toy shaped like a bone; a water dish, bacon flavored
snacks (for the dog); two bottles of water (one for the dog, one for Mr.
Tattoos); and some people snacks for the man.
We rushed back to the spot where we had left him, and there he was, still
waiting. And still nobody else was stopping for him. With hands shaking, I
grabbed our bags and climbed out of the car, all four of my children following
me, each carrying gifts. As we walked up to him, I had a fleeting moment of
fear, hoping he wasn't a serial killer.
I looked into his eyes and saw something that startled me and made me ashamed of
my judgment. I saw tears. He was fighting like a little boy to hold back his
tears. How long had it been since someone showed this man kindness? I told him I
hoped it wasn't too heavy for him to carry and showed him what we had brought.
He stood there, like a child at Christmas, and I felt like my small
contributions were so inadequate. When I took out the water dish, he snatched it
out of my hands as if it were solid gold and told me he had had no way to give
his dog water. He gingerly set it down, filled it with the bottled water we
brought, and stood up to look directly into my eyes. His were so blue, so
intense and my own filled with tears as he said "Ma'am, I don't know what to
say." He then put both hands on his bandanna-clad head and just started to cry.
This man, this "scary" man, was so gentle, so sweet, so humble.
I smiled through my tears and said "Don't say anything." Then I noticed the
tattoo on his neck. It said "Mama tried."
As we all piled into the van and drove away, he was on his knees, arms around
his dog, kissing his nose and smiling. I waved cheerfully and then fully broke
down in tears.
I have so much. My worries seem so trivial and petty now. I have a home, a
loving husband, four beautiful children. I have a bed. I wondered where he would
sleep tonight.
My step-daughter, Brandie turned to me and said in the sweetest little-girl
voice, "I feel so good."
Although it seemed as if we had helped him, the man with the tattoos gave us a
gift that I will never forget. He taught that no matter what the outside looks
like, inside each of us is a human being deserving of kindness, of compassion,
of acceptance. He opened my heart.
Tonight and every night I will pray for the gentle man with the tattoos and his
dog. And I will hope that God will send more people like him into my life to
remind me what's really important.
Susan Farr Fahncke Copyright 1999
Editor@2theheart.com
I am the founder and editor of 2TheHeart and also the author of "Angel's
Legacy". Some of the books my stories most recently appeared in are "Chicken
Soup for the Christian Woman's Soul", "Chicken Soup for the Sister's Soul", "God
Allows Uturns", volumes 1-4, and I write regularly for "Whispers From Heaven"
magazine and other publications. To see more of my writing, visit my own page on
2TheHeart:
http://www.2theheart.com/susan_fahncke
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