There Aren't Supposed To Be Any Homeless People Here

 'If only, if only'
the woodpecker sighed
'The bark on the trees were as soft as the skies'
While the wolf waits below,
hungry and lonely,
He cries to the moon
'If only, if only'.
 - from the book Holes, my Louis Sachar 

There has been at least four distinct times when I have been asked for money or assistance by complete strangers. A woman and daughter approaching me in a parking lot and saying they are desperate for rent money, a man asking for money for gas, a woman in need of a ride, and another woman in need of gas money. It makes me wonder if, when a stranger spots me, if they can peg me as someone who will try to help. The interesting thing is, it's rather hit or miss as to if I have any cash in my wallet, yet in each instance I did have cash - usually a $20 - which I could hand out. Admittedly, there is a part of me which is annoyed by these encounters. I work two jobs, I plan ahead. I don't have much of a cushion when it comes to funds. My money is hard-earned. To hand a $20 to a stranger whose story I can't prove or disprove, just because they came up to me and spilled their tale of woe, is somewhat irksome.

Then there is the other part of me which is thankful to be able to help. The part which is honored to pass on some of what I've been blessed with, and also hopeful that if I were ever in a similar situation that I would meet a stranger willing to open their wallet or give me a ride. Just like with the tattooed good Samaritan who stopped to change a tire, I've been helped along the way whether I've had to ask or not. It's not easy to choose to beg. Every coin has two sides, and I'm ever so thankful not just for the side I'm on but for opportunities which remind me of that fact.

Those situations have been fairly cut and dry. Hand over some money, give someone a ride, hope things get better and have a good day. Done and done. Then, there's Danny Kane. Danny wandered into church a couple of years ago. Worn clothes, old hat, plastic bag with indistinguishable contents clutched tight in his hand, greying hair and dark weathered skin. He was homeless. He asked for a pair of shoes. How could anyone deny such a humble and true request? The church bought him a new pair of shoes. He asked for someplace to stay, because it was the middle of winter, just for a few days. He said he was figuring things out. A few days turned into a few weeks, and it quickly became apparent that Danny had mental issues. He claimed he couldn't work because he was waiting on social security money and if he got a job it would screw things up, or something like that. The pastor met with him many times and tried to get him into a long-term housing shelter. The church researched and found one that seemed like it would fit him and meet his needs and offered to pay for his transportation to get there, but he refused. He refused the offer, but became angry when the church had to stop paying for his motel room. So he left. He had made the rounds of a few other churches in town, gleaning what assistance he could, moving on to someplace else when he didn't like how things were going.

At the time, I would see Danny pretty regularly walking around town with his plastic bag in hand. Then suddenly I didn't see him anymore. Eventually I forgot about him: out of sight, out of mind. Until a couple of weeks ago, when he walked into church once more. He came and left and that was that, except that now I see him around town once more. I've seen him three times in the past week, always the same: walking slowly down a sidewalk or along the side of the road, head bent down, long-sleeved jacket on even when it's 90+ degrees. I wonder: is there something I'm supposed to do? Some way I should help? When I see him it pricks my heart, but am I supposed to turn my car around and go buy him lunch? If he came up to me and asked then yes, I'd give him food or some cash. I can't imagine what it must be like to be him. Always walking but never really going anywhere. Just keeping from loitering or committing any other offense in a town where any homeless people who beg who are spotted by the police are given lunch then driven to the city where there is a frighteningly large homeless population, with shelters which are always full. In this town, there are no shelters. There are not supposed to be any homeless here.

I live in a town supposedly without homelessness, yet I've seen a homeless man three times in one week. It's not cut and dry, it's not done and done. Danny has mental problems and I'm really not qualified to help.  Not in any lasting way at least. So what do I do? Again there is a part of me that thinks, 'well, not my problem', while another part thinks of how lonely he must be, how tired of being a nomad and a beggar. I wish there was some easy answer. Some magical way to make things right. If only.