Wheelchair Thief...I Think Not

Some simply have bags, others suitcases or backpacks...many though, in order to travel with their "essentials" load their household items unto the proverbial 'shopping cart'. Most often they appear to be in a chaotic mess. But I can't imagine much difference if I had such living fortunes or should I say "misfortunes".

Though a 'typical' night shift in our Willamette Valley emergency room can surely bring out those living on the edge of life, our recent 100 degree day in early June just seem to multiply the typical. Often I find myself confounded, dismayed and sadden by the lot that many have come to call norm. Such was the case on this unusually hot summer’s night. I'm not sure if because we share the same age...or, even the same name, or because the story of his world travels, if they even be true. Maybe it was the fascination in his occupation as a water geologist, or his walks along the life of homelessness...Whatever the case might be I felt myself drawn to his life's journey and where that journey might lead next. 

Many hours had past, his symptoms deemed unremarkable, discharged from the hospital at 2:30am he once again stepped out into his homeless world. Watching through our multiple cameras we wondered just how far he would take one of our department wheelchairs. I have no doubt that it would have been much further than what we allowed. Perhaps even today he would be found wandering through the Willamette Valley with a wheelchair. As I approached him in order to recover it he called out to me by name with a friendly voice. "Sorry", I said, "You can't take the wheelchair". He understood and gently responded to my request. It wasn't until offering to assist him with his backpack did I realize its weight. I too would have wanted the wheelchair to push the backpack, rather than carry it. It seemed heavier than any that I'd ever hiked with, even in my youth. At that moment I wished I could have offered the wheelchair to him, or at least help find a place to rest the remainder of the night. He said, "Thank you" and began to walk into the darkness. 

Homelessness...I know it's complicated....I know that it will always be part of the fabric of life. Still, it pains me to think of those of whom this is their experience. 

At times there seems to be little that we can offer. Perhaps at minimum, we...I can offer to listen. Richard is not the first nor will he be the last homeless man that the Lord will place in my path. My desire ... to be an instrument of the Lord...if for nothing else - of compassion.

This blog was written while sitting in the shade on a bench at the 'Zena' cemetery in the Spring Valley area of Oregon. What a special view it beholds. As I write I'm reminder that short of the amazing efforts of my mother Elizabeth 'Liz' Anne Jopp, I too could easily have experienced the life of homelessness. 

Whether written by St Francis or not, this prayer corresponds greatly with the above blog…Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace. Where there is hatred, let me sow love; Where there is injury, pardon; Where there is doubt, faith; Where there is despair, hope; Where there is darkness, light; Where there is sadness, joy.