Michael

 Living in a rather run-down area of Denver, I have become accustomed to the occasional homeless and drunks on the sidewalks. Therefore, I was not taken aback late one night when a man asked my two friends (Britley and Madison) and me if we had a sandwich. However, after assuring him that we did not, he began weeping and dropped to his knees, crying out in anguish and sheer displacement. At this, I was filled with compassion and ran into the house while my friends kept him company. After hastily heating up a sandwich and some macaroni, I rushed back outside and sat down where they were waiting on me. 

 My first words were, “What is your name?” When dealing with the financially impoverished, well-intentioned people often try to serve by simply giving a hand-out and moving on. Shifting towards international short-term mission trips, the Church and relief organizations seem to have embraced the idea of impersonal and physical aid as a primary ideology. However, sometimes we need to slow down and get on the same level; we need to sit down. Respect and dignity equalizes and empowers others, which can lead to a sense of hope and even steps towards self-sufficiency. Widening his eyes with excitement, Michael, as he said his name was, understood that my friends and I were attempting to break the social barriers by sitting on the cold sidewalk with him and finding out about his life. Realizing that I could not “save” Michael from his dire situation in one night, I made the decision to simply listen and learn instead of lecture. This man, although clearly under the influence of dislocation, a burdening financial situation, and drugs, became our teacher. 

 As it turns out, Michael had been in jail for twenty-five years, and he had only come to Denver the week before we met him. He had been homeless since becoming a free citizen two years prior. Obviously worried about our safety, Michael warned all three of us that there are numerous people who would love to hurt us. He had seen some terrifying things in his life, and he knew the dangers of the dark side of humanity. He assured us he would protect us and fight for us if the opportunity ever arose (which made us all feel a bit better honestly- I like to consider him our own, personal Liam Neeson). Still, turning from the rather scary thought, Michael guaranteed us that we had a power beyond anything the streets could take from us. No matter what happened, we were safe in the arms of our eternal Savior. That's something no one can touch. I got chills as he said we would be pure and powerful at the feet of God in heaven one day. He even told us we were angels. When Michael questioned why we would choose to spend our night with him in the cold, while by-passers stared, I answered that we were equal. Because God cared about Michael, so did I. After connecting with Michael for about an hour and a half, I prayed with him, and we parted ways. Although we brought a blanket for him later that night, he was already gone. 

 What had we given Michael, in total, that night? Beyond limited physical aid, we had given him respect and compassion. I told him that I cared about his life, and I meant it. This small event reaffirmed what I have been learning this year through my internships and classes in the Gap Year; leaders provide more than a cause. They provide empathy and a listening ear. They are willing to help and serve, but they also understand the value in letting others work for themselves to create a sense of worth and self-respect. By using the gifts I have to serve others, I hope to develop my leadership and compassion more each day as I learn to see the world and its inhabitants as God sees.