Our honored lunch guests

Homeless. I could look up the word in the dictionary and find a pretty simple definition:  persons who lack permanent housing. Or I could look deeper and find it a lot more complicated, like what is really happening in someone’s life.

Why don’t they have a home?

When I look around at who’s having lunch with us, it breaks my heart. I can’t share their names. They would be so embarrassed if you knew who they were. By protecting their anonymity, I can share a little of what I know.

There’s the young man who lost his entire family in an accident. For weeks, he hasn’t spoken a word. He’s locked inside his grief, wandering the streets half alive, buried in shock.

Another fellow has a degenerative disease. I didn’t realize how fast he is progressing until I saw him a few weeks ago trying to hold a cup of coffee. The meal he gets at the Mission is probably the only food he gets. I can’t bear the thought of him dying alone in a tent.

There’s a family that comes in. They lived in an abandoned house for a while. When they get some money ahead, they stay in a motel room. The couple raised their daughters this way, sometimes sheltered, but mostly on the streets. Now the daughters are grown, so they are like a tribe that doesn’t trust anyone. Sometimes the women will talk to one of our case managers if they happen to be alone in an informal setting. That gives us hope we can reach them one day.

You would be surprised how may of our men never had a drug problem until they lost their spouse, or a parent, or had their heart crushed by a painful divorce. Like the young man who lost his wife seven weeks after their wedding to cancer. I heard that he walked out of his house, locked the door, and just never went back.

These young men had no idea how to cope after this kind of loss. They didn’t have Christ to lean on, to carry them. Instead, they went plunging downhill with no one to catch them until they finally came here for a meal.

And over time, we become their family. We build a bridge of trust. And then one day, they ask if they can stay. Over the years, hundreds have made that leap of faith, found hope and help in our discipleship programs and started moving on to better lives. Our residents reach out to those still on the streets, encourage them and role model what a changed life looks like. As they break bread and show compassion to others in need, they grow into mature Christians. It’s wonderful to watch.

I have to say, our dining area has a special feeling, thanks to our honored guests.