Dirty Love in the Cold

The low tonight is going to be 4 degrees. The ground is covered with snow. . . . it sets me to thinking about the homeless. What about them tonight? I think about them sitting in the mission at 6 PM listening to a gospel message just so they can be sure they get a meal and 90 minutes of warm air.

For myself, there is plenty of food and warm air. Instead of at a homeless mission, this snowy evening finds me sitting at table close by the fire at Panera Bread Company working on my laptop and eating baked potato soup. Not a true care in the world, really.

A woman comes and sits down at the table next to mine. She looks worn, weary, and dirty. She is facing my direction and I get the uncomfortable squirm that you get when you feel like someone is watching you. She just looks like she is sitting there to get warm. Surely she isn't here to eat, I think to myself.

Then the man comes and sit down at her table with the food. He is large and smelly. Thick and cloudy glasses. I wonder when he showered last.

A grown-up girl, with the mind of a child, trails him. She's talking on a cell phone. Her speech and actions betray a disability. I feel compassion for her. And I also feel uncomfortable. Hope they know that I understand and love the special ones like their girl.

But still my mind spins. How in the world can they afford to eat here? They look like they belong in the gospel mission crowd. Why should the dirty ones, the awkward ones, be so close and make me feel uncomfortable? An honest feeling swells up in me. Honest, yet horrific to its core: Why must they come into my sterile and tidy world?

And so I judge them quickly before I love them quickly. I pigeon hole them before I love the whole them.

But now my own vision is changing a bit . . . their filthy and impoverished outsides don't show them for the ones I'm seeing now . . . the parents who are lovingly helping their girl. They care for her. Patiently. Lavishly.

Mixing her tea up just the way she wants it with "honey and nutmeg and cinnamon". And making her feel at home and comfy in their presence.

Why don't I love easy like them?

And I think of God.

Why don't I love easy like Him?

"Uncomfortable" isn't a good excuse for a heart full of narcissism. He didn't use that excuse on the cold nights when He was here.

Why should I?