Woman talking to tent man
The other day, driving home from a customer site, I saw this homeless man. He's a rather nondescript homeless guy, except he's recognizable by the fact he is always seen with at least one dog on a rope with him. He's been in Odessa for several years now, living out in a field beyond the Interstate in a tent. Someone told me he is a Viet Nam vet, has chosen to live like he lives, but I don't know that for a fact.
On this day, right around 5:15 pm when people get off work, I saw a car parked on the side of the access road and a woman walking toward him with a bag in her hand, likely food of some sort. What really touched me was that after she gave it to him, she stood talking to him for a while.
6 comments:
Yes, that is touching. You don't know what he has been through, probably enough for him to want to opt out completely. Apparently the Vietnam veterens got minimal help when they returned home. My auntie used to live next door to someone who had been in Vietnam who many years later made a motion to turn round and shoot as a refexive action when anyone touched him unexpectedly. That lady is obviously a modernday Good Samaritan.
Thanks, Debi -
These things leave us full of questions. She might even be a family member.
What can one do if family decide to remove themselves from society? What would you do? For myself I believe in freedom and respect, so I would try to accept and I would help out if possible. It is a hard call. Whatever the situation - good for her as a human being - the chat is worth even more than the provisions, the recognition of common humanity.
Bless both this woman who reached out to help and Tent Man who has removed himself from our world. Society (we) put on blinders when we see someone who doesn't fit in. They might be like this man with some hurts that can't be visibly recognized , or have some more obvious physical handicap. We must reach out as this woman did.
I love the kindness of this lady. It reminds me of our adventure this summer and talking with "Jim". It makes my heart all warm when I see kindness such as this lady's. Thank you for sharing!
Yes, it makes you want to go out and do these kinds of things yourself more often and then you don't know where to start or where the need is the greatest. We have such a social network here that is supposed to take care of people like this, yet many fall between the mazes of the net. I am glad when people have the courage to get involved and help out. Eduard and I always hand out spare money and food to beggars, little as we have to spare ourselves. I don't like the word beggars, that sounds disrespectful almost, people in need is better, I guess. Even here there are too many of them, despite our network.
Sweet Irene...
I have a good word “wanderers”, :) we need to remember that these people are someone’s child, parent, grandparent, aunt, uncle, sister, brother. My mom is afflicted by bipolar and pscyzophrenia and she has chosen to live in shelters, to be a wanderer. A lot of our wanders choose to live this life and we need to be kind with respect and love. Here is a poem by Alan Seeger that touches me deeply on this subject:
The Wanderer
To see the clouds his spirit yearned toward so
Over new mountains piled and unploughed waves,
Back of old-storied spires and architraves
To watch Arcturus rise or Fomalhaut,
And roused by street-cries in strange tongues when day
Flooded with gold some domed metropolis,
Between new towers to waken and new bliss
Spread on his pillow in a wondrous way:
These were his joys. Oft under bulging crates,
Coming to market with his morning load,
The peasant found him early on his road
To greet the sunrise at the city-gates, --
There where the meadows waken in its rays,
Golden with mist, and the great roads commence,
And backward, where the chimney-tops are dense,
Cathedral-arches glimmer through the haze.
White dunes that breaking show a strip of sea,
A plowman and his team against the blue,
Swiss pastures musical with cowbells, too,
And poplar-lined canals in Picardie,
And coast-towns where the vultures back and forth
Sail in the clear depths of the tropic sky,
And swallows in the sunset where they fly
Over gray Gothic cities in the north,
And the wine-cellar and the chorus there,
The dance-hall and a face among the crowd, --
Were all delights that made him sing aloud
For joy to sojourn in a world so fair.
Back of his footsteps as he journeyed fell
Range after range; ahead blue hills emerged.
Before him tireless to applaud it surged
The sweet interminable spectacle.
And like the west behind a sundown sea
Shone the past joys his memory retraced,
And bright as the blue east he always faced
Beckoned the loves and joys that were to be.
From every branch a blossom for his brow
He gathered, singing down Life's flower-lined road,
And youth impelled his spirit as he strode
Like winged Victory on the galley's prow.
That Loveliness whose being sun and star,
Green Earth and dawn and amber evening robe,
That lamp whereof the opalescent globe
The season's emulative splendors are,
That veiled divinity whose beams transpire
From every pore of universal space,
As the fair soul illumes the lovely face --
That was his guest, his passion, his desire.
His heart the love of Beauty held as hides
One gem most pure a casket of pure gold.
It was too rich a lesser thing to hold;
It was not large enough for aught besides.
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