A Good Night's Sleep

At Thursday Cafe tonight, as I was passing out goodie bags, I noticed a man--probably in his early forties--whom I haven't seen for awhile. All our homeless folks get a goodie bag, but I couldn't remember what his living situation was, so I asked him, "Have you got a roof over your head?"

"No ma'am," he answered as he tilted his head toward the back of a particular building, "I'm actually staying behind there." Then he added, "But guess what? I've got an interview tomorrow!" He was practically giddy with pride and relief. He'd been hunting relentlessly for work. "I've been going to Labor Ready to get whatever work I could," he said. "Yesterday, I worked my fingers to the bone!" He held up his hands, and I saw that he was only slightly exaggerating: the tips of all his fingers were raw, the top layer of skin completely gone, like when you work till you've got blisters, and then you work some more, and the blisters burst.

He explained that he'd be getting as much as thirteen dollars an hour at his new job. "Maybe I'll be off the street soon!" I told him how happy I was for him, and as I handed him a goodie bag, I noticed he was rubbing his bare arms.This last week or so, the air has had far too much bite it in for September in Tennessee. "Have you got anything like a jacket?" he asked. "It's supposed to get down in the forties tonight."

"In fact, I do," I said, "but I've gotta go back to the Manna House to get it, so hang tight."

I don't know what this man's story is--but I know what I saw: that he'd worked his hands raw in an attempt to do whatever he could to make it, to move forward. He needed a good night's sleep, and that meant he needed to be warm. And so I would have done just about anything at that point to make sure he didn't spend the night in misery, shivering against the cold, but all I had to do was run back to the Manna House, where we have some provisions left over from last winter. I was able to dig up a sleeping bag, a pair of combat boots, a hooded jacket, and a flashlight. A few minutes later I was back at the Cafe, and I gave him the loot. He thanked me profusely, and then he thanked me again. It was a joy and an honor to be able to bless him. This is just what we do at Manna Cafe, but there's nothing quite like it.

"The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sister of mine, you did for me.'"