A few Saturdays ago, I went walking at the Richland Creek Greenway in Nashville. I’ve only been there one other time. Not far from the remote parking lot I used, I came upon two benches near the fork leading to the main trail. On one of them, a man was covered in blankets, sleeping. He had a loaded shopping cart parked beside his bench. It was chilly that morning and I wondered how difficult it would be to get warm and comfortable on a park bench.
I walked for almost an hour and when I came back, the man was on his knees by the bench. Was he praying? That’s what it looked like, but it was hard to tell. By the time I approached him, he was standing up and sifting through his belongings. He was about 65, if I had to guess. I looked at him as I passed and said hello. He looked at me and returned the greeting in a soft, low voice. As I walked to my car, I felt sad. I thought to myself, That’s someone’s father, someone’s son, perhaps
a brother or an uncle.
My plan was to get a quick bite at a drive-thru and then go downtown for a book festival. I kept thinking about that man and considered buying him lunch too. Was that a crazy idea? Was he hungry? Would he be offended? Grateful? Was it safe? (There wasn’t much foot traffic where he was.) What if he is a vegetarian and doesn’t eat hamburgers or doesn’t like cheese?
I drove to Wendy’s nearby. They had a meal with a double bacon cheeseburger, chicken nuggets, fries and a drink. Still a little hesitant, I ordered two of them. I grabbed a lot of napkins, extra ketchup and mustard packets, and plenty of forks and spoons that I thought he might be able to use later.
On the way back across the parking lot, I called a friend to tell her what I was doing so she could check on me in fifteen minutes, but I got her voicemail. I said, “Okay God, it’s you and me. Stop me now if this is a bad idea.” I didn’t get a gut feeling to stay in the car, just a little nervousness, so I decided to keep going.
Lunch in hand, I rounded the corner and said hello again. I asked him if he would like some lunch. “Sure!” he exclaimed. “That would be great.” He said he had a big loaf of bread, but someone stole it from him while he was sleeping. He quickly asked me if I was married. “Yes,” I answered. “Where is your husband?” he asked. “At home,” I answered, starting to feel a little more anxious. “Does he know you’re here?” “Yes,” I lied. I wasn’t about to tell my husband what I was doing and get him
all worried. “Uh-oh, he’s going to come get me!” I laughed and said, "No, he’s not."
He said something about being creepy and I clarified, “Are you saying having lunch is creepy or YOU are creepy?” He said, “I’m creepy.” Darn, I thought that was what he said, but I had hoped I’d gotten it wrong. I was feeling even more concerned. He laughed and said he was joking. “Ha ha!” I managed to say.
We introduced ourselves and shook hands. His name is Roger. He’s 68. He said he’s been living on that bench for two years. He said it rained the other night, a terrible storm. He took cover under the overhang of a nearby store, but a policeman woke him at 2 AM and told him he had to leave. “But it’s raining,” he told the officer. He still had to leave. He covered his things up and rolled his cart back to his bench, about a ten-minute walk away. His bench had some tree cover and by then, he said,
the rain wasn’t that bad. He was proud of his thick blankets and said they keep him dry.
I asked him if I could say a prayer to bless our meal because it seemed like the thing to do. He said that would be great. So I said a simple blessing and we began to dig in. He offered me some mayonnaise and went to his cart and produced several packets. He said he likes mayonnaise on his fries instead of ketchup. I told him thank you, but I’m good with ketchup. He seemed very happy with the assortment of food. I was relieved he wasn’t a vegetarian.
Roger told me he’s learning to play guitar. Not seeing a guitar, I asked him if he had one. He said he has two and they are safe and dry at a nearby pawn shop. They don’t charge him very much to store them. Roger said he’s taking lessons on his phone by watching a video over and over, staring at the finger positioning. He said it’s kind of hard because his phone has no sound. He’s figuring it will take him about two years, which is a long time but he’s going to keep at it.
I shared with him that several of my family members are musicians—they play guitars, brass instruments, the piano. I told him I had learned to play the clarinet in middle school and he got really excited. “Oh you’re a musician?” he asked. “Can you teach me to play guitar?” “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know how to play guitar.” “Oh ok.”
Roger had a unique accent and I asked him where he was from. He said he grew up in New Orleans but his mother was from South America. He told me she was one of the most beautiful women in the world and that she used to work at a bank. He said she made a lot of money and was always helping people. Roger looked really happy when he talked about his mother. We had a slight communication challenge due to his accent so I didn’t understand everything he was saying, but I could tell he really loved
her.
A few people went by now and then like it was nothing to see two people having lunch together. By then, sharing lunch with Roger felt like a very natural thing to do. We ate and chatted and enjoyed the nice day like I would have done with any other friend.
Finally I told him I needed to get going and I thanked him for sharing a meal with me. He was very appreciative and thanked me for taking the time. I told him I didn’t come there very often but I hoped I would see him again. We said goodbye and I walked back to my car.
I drove to a nearby shady area to think about my time with Roger. I wasn’t having a particularly great day. I’m going through some life challenges myself, but I’m not trying to stay warm and dry while sleeping on a park bench. That sure put my troubles in perspective.
I wrote a blog a few weeks ago entitled, “More Resilient than Lilies.”
Here’s the link if you missed it. It doesn’t take a lot of water to bring a lily back to life. It doesn’t take much effort to bring light and life to another human being either. It cost me six dollars, a little time and some courage to show someone that
I saw him and that
he
mattered. That he and I are more the same then we are different. And that food can bridge almost any gap.
I didn’t go to the book festival that day. I felt full, not just my belly, but my heart. My day was complete; what more could I have possibly needed? I went home, pleased to have made a new friend. Roger may think I did him a favor but he gave me the greater gift.
Opportunities abound to show kindness to each other and these situations often present themselves. We just have to be open to following that little voice inside us giving us a nudge. A smile, attention and acceptance are free gifts to give and can go a long way. We can all use more of those.
Mindfulness is about listening to our five senses, but it’s also about listening to our hearts. I shared this quote in Finding the Gift on November 24, but it’s worth repeating:
“In Asian languages, the word for 'mind' and the word for 'heart' are same. So if you're not hearing mindfulness in some deep way as heartfulness, you're not really understanding it. Compassion and kindness towards oneself [and others] are intrinsically woven into it. You could think of mindfulness as wise and affectionate attention.” ~Jon Kabat-Zinn
Today, let’s be open to how we can answer the need of a fellow human being.
