Keep Warm and Well Fed...

"You got a dollar?"

I smelled her before I heard her. I ignored her even though I know she was talking to me.

"Jake, you got a dollar for a hamburger?"

"Dang these work name badges!"

I looked up at the wrinkly old woman. I'm not quite sure how she was going to eat the hamburger with her two remaining teeth, but by this point, it was pretty difficult to pretend she was talking to anyone else but me.

I had a decision to make. I had about fourteen cents in my pocket and a Lincoln in my wallet. No Washingtons. If I pulled out my wallet I had no choice but to give her the five. I'm pretty sure she wasn't going to make change either. Maybe because she wasn't wearing one of those change machines the skating waitresses at Sonic wear. Maybe because she was wearing something of a Goodwill special. Or maybe because she smelled. In any case, I knew if good ol' Abe left the wallet, that was the last I was going to see of him.

I was tempted to give her the fourteen cents. I mean, there were plenty of other people in the lobby of Micky D's. If everyone gave her fourteen cents, she could supersize her meal and probably have enough for a sundae.

A couple of years ago I was at a ski retreat that Josh Finklea spoke at. I remember him teaching on loving the unloveable. Especially when they ask for money.

"They might use it to buy drugs or alcohol," one student argued.

"Really?" Josh replied. "And what were you going to use it for? Going to the movies? Getting the latest CD?" (Like I said, this was few years back, before itunes and their wonderfully addictive downloads.)

His point was, we waste so much money on ourselves, and sometimes in sinful ways, that the "they might spend it on booze" arguement doesn't really hold a lot of water. Since then, my defenses have always been broken. I've yet to come up with better reasoning as why I deserve my money more than someone in need.

Plus, being that we were already in McDonald's (insert copyright sign) I was pretty sure they didn't sell beer. So out came the five. Her eyes lit up.

"Wow! Thanks Jake."

As I sat in my chair finishing my double cheeseburger (still the best deal in fast food) I thought, "How can I get out of here before she comes back and sits down next to me?" But, of course, I still had one more double cheeseburger and a grilled honey mustard snack wrap (because the fried one would be too fatty, and I am the epitome of health). So I braced myself for what I knew was coming.

"You live around here Jake?"

"No."

"Where do you live?" She asks.

"Southwest part of the valley." (Sigh, here it comes...)

And there it went. I asked her where she lived. She said downtown. Here and there. I knew what she meant. I knew before she said it. I have to be honest, I don't know how to act in these situations. I gave her money. I act interested in her life. I say things like, "you know, if you wouldn't gamble all your money away, you might have enough to buy a cheeseburger."

Helen. Her name was Helen. She has a son that is an EMT in LA. She hasn't spoken to him in a couple of years. She is unemployed and receives a small social security check.

The more I study the scriptures the more I feel that these are the people Christ cares the most about. The reason He came to this world. The captive. The blind. The downtrodden.

And I feel so inadequate. I feel like the person James writes about when he says:

"Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it? In the same way, faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead." (James 2:15-17)

So is it my responsibility to feed and clothe every homeless person in Las Vegas? Nevada? America? The World?

Yes. Yes, I think it is.