***SPARK..LE***

 

This has nothing to do with Triathlon, sorry to disappoint, but this is something that I believe to be much more poignant and all too often reoccurring in my life.

 

If you were one of the 3 people that read my last entry about running and wanting to give up, then maybe you remember the paragraph where I referred to passing all of the homeless people and how it almost stopped me- instantly. Or you may remember my entry regarding the homeless man in NYC. Either way, their plight and their struggles affect me like nothing else. It hurts me to see human beings living that way. We spend billions all over this world and there are people who truly need our help right outside our doors.

 

The half marathon on Thanksgiving took us down a road that is lined on either side with the homeless. There were groups huddled together trying to keep warm, some sleeping in rolled up newspaper and old blankets, others walking or just standing. My run turned into a slow jog and I could barely get a deep breath as I was so overtaken with sadness. This was certainly something I could not forget and do nothing about.

 

A week or so after - I returned to that street accompanied by Tami and Kona. We brought all of our left overs, a few bottles of water and dropped them to a group of homeless near the end of the street. There were several there and I asked them to make sure they shared amongst themselves. They agreed. As I walked back to the car you could hear them sifting through the bag and talking to each other. They said thank you. We left and returned the following Sunday with more of the same and dropped it to another group. We have been repeating this and I feel like although we can’t help everyone, we are helping a few.  We were doing something. Maybe that one meal gives that person a smile or at least a full stomach for an evening.

 

A few weeks later there was a news story about an effort to meet and record all of the homeless in Atlanta. They were taking volunteers and pairing with police escorts to go out at night, record and find what and why these people were living on the streets. Regardless if you believe this was the right way or good way to allocate funds, or agree with how they chose to go about doing it - I am proud of our city. They should be applauded for the effort to start helping, the start of doing something. I have seen homeless people who are mentally ill in wheelchairs, barely able to speak and they are begging for money. MY GOD! How is any part of that acceptable??  HOW?!

 

I know you might be saying that some of them don’t want help.  Maybe some are there due to drug abuse, and perhaps you are right. But not all. I guarantee- NOT ALL! In my heart of hearts, they all deserve better. Say what you will. These are people.

 

There is always a point to my posts. This is it...

*************************************************************************************Yesterday I met a Saint. Tami described her as an Angel.

I pay attention to the homeless. If I see one while driving I make a mental note. If there are clothes we are unable to use or left overs we wont eat, we take them to those people. Yesterday was a little different…

Very near to our house I saw an old lady pushing a shopping cart. She was dressed with layers of long clothes and walked slowly pushing a shopping cart filled to the limit with what seemed to be her entire life wrapped in grocery bags. We moved to this neighborhood about a year ago and this was the first I had seen a homeless person so close. Hours later Tami came home from a long weekend away. While unloading the car she said she brought left overs back and figured we could take them to our weekly spot. Instantly the old lady came to mind and I told Tami to set them by the door as there were some clothes there as well. Briefly I told her how I saw the lady and we could go see if she was still around to give her the food.

An hour later we walk Kona outside and across the street, pushing the maxed out cart, draped in the long heavy clothes, was the lady I saw earlier. Tami ran back inside and grabbed the bags of food and I crossed the street so I could talk to her and offer it up.

(this is always interesting as some of the homeless will turn and walk away, some will just keep walking, others will talk…its never the same. For safety reasons, I am the one to approach but Kona Bean and Tami are always backing me upJ)

I said hello. She turned to me and with a thick foreign accent said hello back. She was older, somewhere in her late 70’s early 80’s. Her head was covered in a babushka type scarf wrap and underneath there was another. The scarfs shadowed her bright blue eyes that had a spec of brown in the middle encased in very weathered skin. Her skin resembled old leather from obvious years of being exposed to the elements with plenty of thick wrinkles.  A ball of grey, white and a little black hair hung out the back of the scarf on top of a dark blue wool jacket. Her hands had gloves with half of the fingers missing. Each hand was worn, wrinkled, calloused, and chapped. The resembled those of a concrete worker, not that of an older lady. She had on a blue shirt with a pouch in front carrying something and her pants were baggy leading down to a pair of black shoes that looked to have more miles on them than my first car.

( I have to tell you that I’m on an airplane writing this and literally had to stop and collect myself because of the overwhelming sadness I have from remembering that moment…)

I asked her how she was and would she like some food and need any help. She smiled and again with the accent, thanked me but said she could not eat it. The bag I had was full of bagels, chips and a bunch of other things. She was so thankful but told me eating bread made her very sick so she wouldn’t be able to eat it. There was a bag hanging from the handle of the cart with cookies in it. She showed it to me while explaining how a lady purchased them and gave the cookies to her. She didn’t want to upset or offend the lady so she took them with the hopes that someone she ran into would want them. She offered them to me. (read that statement again) Yes, here is an old lady, no home, no car, no money, all of her belongings in a cart that she is pushing up a large long hill and she is offering me cookies.

I was blown away and did everything I could to hold back tears as we continued to talk. I asked her name.  Itskra she replied. She is an immigrant from Czechoslovakia and her name means “Spark” or to “Sparkle.”  She waved her hand in the air as if to have a sparkler or firework. I smiled! She asked me my name and when I replied Ryan, she asked if it meant anything. I told her not to my knowledge. She quickly interjected that her daughter was named Ryna and that meant “Paradise”! She was sure Ryan had to mean something similar. J

We were talking for a while and two ladies approached us. They asked if they could help. Offered her a ride, food etc. I even offered to have her come in and have dinner with us. She declined with a smile and a sincere thank you. We all asked where she would sleep, where she was going, how could we help? Her response in a thick accent; “ You have already helped so much. You stopped. You talked to me. I stopped at the shopping center to use the bathroom, wash my hands and get some water. They called the police to ask me to leave. You did not. You care about me. That is more than I could ever ask for. You have love in your hearts for me.” I couldn’t speak. She continued. “ I have everything I need with the sky above me and the earth below me. When I am tired I take a nap then I keep walking. The earth has good energy and you have given me good energy. I walk.” We asked about shelters, family, the works. She told us that she didn’t like the shelter because it felt like a prison. She wanted to be free. Much different than where she came from and for the last 12 years, this is what she did.

She is free.

There was so much more that was said and I can’t put it into words because it almost feels wrong- like it was meant for me to hear. Feel. Remember.

I walked back across the street with the bag of food quickly met by Tami and Kona. I couldn’t speak. Eventually I was able to tell bits and pieces to Tami but each time was abruptly stopped because I am overcome by emotion. We haven’t seen her since and Im convinced we wont again. She said if we ever do, to please say hi! If we don’t remember her name, Itskra, we can always say “Spark” or “Sparkle” and she will answer.

Sparkle – she certainly does.

That day will never leave me. Her face. Her smile. Her sparkle.

I would like to leave this earth a better place. There is no doubt I have much work to do and every day I continue learning what that means. Maybe one day I will be able to be half as amazing as Itskra . As mentioned before, Im not sure she was human though and I although I am not very religious, I do believe I met an Angel.

 

 Saint…Spark!