***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.
*************************************************************************************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.
