Article October 1, 2012 Issue

Never homeless in God's care

Deb Hensley

One winter night about three years ago, I was walking with a friend in a large city. We were out for the evening and had just finished a nice visit over dinner. While strolling and window shopping on our way home, we came upon a young man—a boy, really—sitting on some steps, shivering and holding a cardboard sign that said: “Homeless and hungry. Please help. I will not buy drugs.”

We approached, met his eyes, but kept on walking. Neither my friend nor I spoke. We’re both mothers, and I think we were feeling some of the same emotions. But about 20 silent strides later, I could feel my emotions rising uncontrollably within me, and I began to physically shake. I had to stop and lean against a building. My friend stopped alongside me as well, and held my hand.

“I have to do something,” I told her through tears. “We can’t just leave that kid there. We have to go back. We have to take him home.” We stood there for a while in the cold, wondering what to do; me shaking and crying, and my friend standing there with me being very still and kind. Then my friend asked: “What is it? Why do you think you’re having this strong of an emotional reaction?” 