Stace and I had just gotten out of church to meet my dad for dinner. We were running late, and she wasn't paying attention when she rear ended a limo driver who spoke very little English. Frazzled, she spoke with her insurance while I kept the man in good spirits.
We were on our way after 20 minutes or so, had dinner, laughed it off with my dad, all was fine. Except Stacey was still beating herself up for having been so oblivious to the car in front of her.
It was late, we were tired, both in need of a mood lifter.
That's when we saw a homeless man, sitting on the ground, not really paying much attention to people driving by. All day, every day, someone is standing on this corner begging. This man couldn't be bothered. He didn't even look up.
We got the green light. "Whew" is usually the sigh of relief for most people. No one likes to be the person stopped at the red light next to a homeless person looking you right in the eyes, hoping for something. Not us. This was what we needed.
Stacey looked over at him as she drove past him. Then she looked at me.
"I feel like we need to get that guy something," she said.
"Yeah? Like what?"
"I dunno, let's go to the gas station."
{As a side note: I am a total softy when it comes to homeless people. You might disagree with this next statement, but in truth, I simply don't care. My Nonnie taught me that God put that person in front of you to give; not to judge. Whatever they do with it afterwards is between them and God. It's not your sword to swing, you did your job. Take that however you want; it's not for everyone}
We parked, picked up some red vines (because who doesn't love red vines), water, and some other random things we both thought we'd want if we were on the streets. We asked the attendant if he wouldn't mind us parking at the gas station for a bit while we walked down the street.
We were on our way to see the homeless man, in hopes to maybe pray over him and shed some light on a dark, lonely evening. We were not prepared for what happened next.
He appeared to be on the streets for a while. He was in his late 50's sporting a massive beard, long grey hair, a hat, and a serious runny nose.
He was happy to see two young ladies heading his way, and we... well we were all of a sudden in a hurry to get out of there. He spoke fast, but not jibberish. He was educated. Very educated. Clearly he was on something, but we didn't know what. "I LOVE red vines!" Well, at least we nailed that one.
We gave each other the "let's give this five minutes and get out of here" look, but he just kept on talking about this and that. He told me, "I bet you don't last 20 minutes talking to me because by that time, this snot will reach the bottom of my nose and you'll be so grossed out, you'll run."
He was right. It was gross. But something happened. We stayed. We listened. We quietly prayed.
An hour later, the snot reached well beyond the bottom of his nose. He was becoming very passionate about his rants and with every word, I would just stare at it... waiting for that slimy goo to come flying across and hit me in my own mouth.
We found out his name was Vinny. He was 57 years old and had been on the streets for 26 of those years. We wanted so badly to just pray over him, and be on our way, maybe to catch him again on a sober day. This wasn't turning out the way we had planned... does anything?
Late turned into really late, and we needed to get going. That's when a friend of Vinny rolled up on his bike. His name was Randall. By this time, Vinny was tired of talking to us, so he want back to his post, sat down, and continued rambling to himself.
Randall was well kept, very sober, and didn't appear to be homeless (he told us later he has a place to stay, but that's about it). With his bike and cigarette in hand, he asked how - and what - we were doing in the area.
We explained our night, how we saw Vinny, and felt the pull to come meet him before heading home.
"Vin Dog is a real good friend of mine," he said. "That man needs a lot of prayer."
Stacey looked at me, with eyes lit up.
"Actually, that's why we came over here. We were hoping to pray over him," she said.
"Well," he replied, "why don't we do it now?"
Wow...
Stace and I looked at each other, completely taken back by his response.
"Absolutely," we both said.
Without hesitation, he put his bike down, along with his cigarette, grabbed both our hands, and he prayed right there with traffic flying by us. I squeezed Stacey's hand in disbelief.
"Dear God, I thank you for this night. I thank you for all the beauty in this world and for people like Stacey and Rebecca, for stopping by and spending time with Vinny. He needs your help and we ask for you to watch over him."
We were both weeping. I don't even remember what else he said in his prayer, and it didn't matter. I was blown away. We left, moods beyond lifted, knowing we'd be back to visit Vinny, even if he didn't remember talking to us.
Two weeks later, Stacey passed him off the freeway, with red vines in her hand ready to pass off.
"Hi Stacey!!"
No. Way. He remembered.
She called me and told me to go see him. So I did. And he was sober.
He apologized for that night, and he opened up to me about his life growing up in Huntington Park, his daughter Heather (somewhere out there), the day his cousin offered him methamphetamine in his teen years to kick a migraine, and how he wished it never happened. He hates when people drive past him just to yell at him to get a job, he loves mixing every kind of cereal he can get his hands on, pouring milk straight into the box, and eating it just like that. He told me he'd rather have 20 minutes of conversation with someone than $100.
I've seen him a number of times since then, and the gas attendant now knows who I'm going to visit, bringing him a few of his favorite things, and meeting some of the other guys (and girl) in the neighborhood. He lives right behind Sandals Church, and my hope is to one day have him accept my invite to a service.
Today, I went to the Woodcrest campus and it was the most powerful service I've been to in years. God reached right into my heart and tugged on the strings. So much so, that I wept the entire time. It was a service of prayer. Pastor Matt asked us to write down a name that only we can reach (Philemon 1:4).
I wrote down Vinny.
He told us to pray for the following:
- Make God real to them, no matter what it takes.
- Block the enemy from them (God doesn't change hearts, he only softens them).
- Ask God to help me pray for them. (2 Corinthians 4:4)
This man is the focus of my prayers, and if you see him standing on Blaine off the 215S, tell him I said so.
"In everything I did, I showed you that by this kind of hard work, we must help the weak, remembering the words the Lord Jesus himself said: 'It is more blessed to give than to receive.'"
Acts 20:35
