The Man Who Cries and Grace

I ran up the sidewalk to our Bridge Homeless Outreach. It was raining this night so all the volunteers and our bridge guests huddled under the bathroom gazebo roofed breezeway. Men came out of their side of the bathroom and told me about a man huddled against the back wall crying. No one knew why. All anyone knew was that he lived under the bridge. About ten minutes later he came out, this middle-aged, scruffy, unshaven man with a hollow look in his red eyes.  Eyes without hope in them is a sad look indeed. He looked empty, dead. . .and yet was breathing.

I walked up to him ever so gently to introduce myself and put out my hand to shake his. He put both of his hands under his arms and shook his head from side to side saying, 'I don't like to talk to people." I backed off respecting his space but issued an invitation to help himself to a hot meal. He did but retracted back to the corner with his food, alone.

What was his story I wondered. I was told, but could have easily guessed he was a hard alcoholic. O, how I despise that demon! I suspected mental illness too.

He came back the next week but sat away from everyone. He still looked dead. . .still breathing. He would not talk to me. He would not talk to my husband. We backed away, again respecting his space. O God, I whispered, let him feel love. And then the man walked right up to Frank, one of our volunteers and said, "Do you believe in God?"  I watched Frank and the man walk over to the side of the bridge, away from the crowd, and they talked. Frank was available. We were all available, but it was Frank's space the man was comfortable entering. And Frank's space was open for the man to enter. I don't know what was said but I know Frank, so I know the space was comfortable for this man. We all issue grace at the bridge, but sometimes one is drawn more to one than another and that's ok. . .it's great. . .bonding at the bridge. . .I was thankful for Frank this night, to be available, to stand in the center, to take one to the side, to share with the man who cries. He entered into grace when he entered Frank's space. You cannot be untouched in the presence of grace. It could have been the beginning of a healing, maybe the beginning of tears drying up. We may never know. But I once again witnessed grace at the bridge. It's a beautiful thing.

Thank you Frank!


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