Once, upon walking through the alley behind work, I was "greeted" by two men. One, who I saw first, had a look on his face as if to warn me before I saw what I did next. The man next to him was facing outward, and when he saw me, he smiled a three-toothed grin that I'm not sure was for me... I didn't stick around long enough to know, once I looked down and found his genitals out, his urine landing in a puddle on the asphalt. I think this goes without saying... but that experience left me scarred... I still wish I had those few seconds of my life back.
Yesterday, upon walking to work, this time not in the alley behind the office but rather on a busy street, I made my way past a man turned toward a building, his cart of belongings trailing behind him. Hearing something similar to a water run-off, I looked over to him - only to see his urine spilling down the sidewalk. I barely hopped out of the way before it splashed on my sandal-adorned feet after hitting the pavement.
Normally, when I see strangers like these men, I feel at least a small sting of sadness. These beggars on the street, sleeping in parks, men and women who haven't showered in perhaps weeks or even months, shuffling their carts filled with any belongings they might own... I can't help but wonder: What happened? Have their lives always been like this? Where did they spend their days days as children? Do they have children of their own? Do they have parents? Siblings?
And while I feel sad for these people, I also have a hard time restraining a feeling of disgust for those who choose the street to relieve themselves of their bladders - and in some cases, their bowels. Yes, their homes are gone. Their belongings are down to a bare minimum... but is that truly an excuse to throw all manners and self-respect out the window? I realize I am a rather sheltered, naive person when it comes to homelessness. I know I've never been in their shoes, and I think I may be safe to say I never will be (knock on wood). But am I wrong to find this habit of uncleanliness - that a grown person would use the street as a bathroom - disgusting beyond belief?
In the risk of sounding corny, I should answer that question with another: "What would Jesus do?" In that case, I should love them all the same. In fact, it is because of these individuals that I find myself counting my blessings when I walk through the streets of down town SLC these days. Frequent thoughts come to mind such as, "maybe that day at work wasn't so bad. I do have a job."...."Maybe living at my parents house is manageable. I do have parents who love me enough to provide a home for me to live in."...."I think I can survive... I am surrounded by family and friends who are willing to help me."
While on the subject of being corny, a certain primary song comes to mind:
"Jesus said love ev’ryone;
Treat them kindly, too.
When your heart is filled with love,
Others will love you."
While waiting for the trax train after work earlier this week, a man was making his rounds, asking for money. I could tell that he was a bit bashful and ashamed at what he was doing, so I decided to give him a couple bucks. The change I saw in him was remarkable when I handed the money over. He immediately felt the urge to talk to me and, actually, was trying to be funny. Though he was nice enough, I had been absorbed in my book and was a bit more bugged than I should have been. I didn't return much of the talking, and perhaps I should have. Instead of worrying about my life and trying to get back to my precious book (that heaven forbid I put a bookmark in... it will be there when I'm done), I should've been more concerned about him... or for anyone, for that matter. Even if they do appear dirty and are begging for money.
I am not even a sliver of a fraction of the kind of person I want to be one day. But I think if I am a bit less self-involved, a bit more friendly and a lot more willing to put my world down for more than a fraction of a second, I could come close. Even if it means ignoring the unclean habits of others. Heaven knows I have some, too.
