A Gift of Hope: Helping the Homeless Read Online Free PDF

was stunned, yet again, at how rapidly we used up what we’d brought, with so many people left who needed everything.
    That night, we had enough for seventy-five people, and I doubt that what we had lasted two hours. Suddenly the van was empty, there were no sleeping bags rolling out of it, no more jackets to offer, no socks, no gloves. Much too quickly, we had nothing left to give. I always hated the part of the night when you had to drive home, trying not to see the people in doorways that we hadn’t been able to get to. It was painful beyond words, and sometimes we cried as we drove past them. I went home at night thinking not only of those we had met and supplied, but, with an aching heart, of those we hadn’t, and sometimes thinking of them more than the others. Emptying the ocean with a thimble again, our thimbles so tiny, and the ocean of need so huge.
    Interestingly, and contrary to what most people would expect, no one asked us for money. The question was never raised. In eleven years on the streets, I was asked for money once, and then only for a dollar. People were so grateful for what we had to give, and so respectful, that I don’t think it even occurred to them to ask for more. Once in a while, people would ask for a cigarette, but rarely. They were thrilled with what they did get, and deeply thankful. They had learned to expect nothing from life, and so many had lost hope, that a gift of any kind was a wondrous thing. They taught me much about gratitude, for what one has or is given, without wishing for anything more.
    Our little team worked well that night. More than any of us, Jane kept tabs on what we had in the van and gave us a running count of what was left as our supplies disappeared into the streets. Concerned about not having enough for everyone, we were careful not to stop at groups that were too big for us. The last thing we wanted was to disappoint or upset people, and we also didn’t want to risk their anger or frustration. Jane kept us on track, and seemed to have a hundred hands as she pulled what we needed from the back of the van, sometimes climbing into and over the supplies herself, a loving octopus in gym shoes. And John, with his deeply compassionate face and kind eyes, looked at people in a way that left no doubt how much he cared about them. It was as though he hadwaited his whole life to meet each of them, and people responded immediately to him. Tony, one of my two employees with us, spoke to people we met in Spanish when necessary, and was unfailingly cheerful and upbeat as he handed out supplies. Younes, who had been with me on the first night, drove us patiently from one stop to the next, and his gentleness and size alone were impressive to watch, and kept us safe on the streets wherever we ventured. And although only in spirit, my son Nick was with us that night too. I thought about him a lot, and wanted him to be part of this event in some tangible way, since indirectly he had caused it to happen. I had put his watch on at the last minute, right before we went out. It comforted me to see it on my wrist, and made him seem part of the action in a real way. I always wear his ring. And since that night, I have always worn Nick’s watch when on the streets. It has kept him with us, and with me.
    All in all, it was a good night, even if a wet and hard one. There were faces and moments we all remembered and took with us as we drove home. We had one set of supplies left in the back of the van but had seen no singles in a while. We were keeping an eye out for one. And then, of course, it came, God’s famous Last-Stop Curve Ball. Like the girl with cancer I had met on the first night, this last person nearly did me in. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, and we nearly drove past him. He was sitting in a doorway in an alley, a single figure,perfect for the one outfit we had left. I called out to stop the van, which Younes did, we got out, and I walked toward a young man. I don’t