resources

what you can do

TO THE STREETS

“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

I went to the streets of my city for the same reason Thoreau ventured into the woods—to live deliberately. I wanted to bring beauty to the broken and ugly corners of our society, but I didn’t know what to expect—until I met Larry, a homeless man who completely ruined my cushy suburban life in the best possible way.

Red leather skin held up his heavy blue eyes that enthusiastically stared back at mine as we sat on a concrete curb by the abandoned downtown gas station. This was our Monday night hangout affectionately called “LoveBags.” My friends and I give out bags of food and toiletries with a warm hand and a loving smile to our homeless friends every Monday night.

One Monday night, I sat down with Larry and out came his story; he was the “head-honcho” contractor for a construction company in West Palm, but when his wife lost her battle with cancer, he lost it all—the house, the car, and his reason to live. Beer bottle in hand, he traded his bed for a concrete slab and his dignity for homelessness.

I first met Larry at his weakest point; out-of-control wasted, but crying from his soul for a second chance at life. Another volunteer got Larry into a program and off the streets that December. Larry quickly became our LoveBags success story; he got a job, an apartment, and ran fast toward his dream of starting over. I loved not seeing him Monday nights because I knew he was finding his way in the world free from alcoholism and homelessness. However, months later, there was Larry hunched over, sitting on the concrete curb again. My heart fell to my feet when I learned Larry was laid off from his job and lost it all again. I threw my arms around his shoulders as tears fell from his eyes.

“Chloe, I failed. I failed again.” He said. Right then Larry dared me to be great. His tears dared me to believe in the impossible. His shame dared me to forget the limitations attached to my age and carry his fifty-one year old burden on my seventeen-year old back. He was more than another homeless man—he became my dear friend, and his life was no longer just another story; it became my story too.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Larry.”

“I would love to believe that, but there’s no guarantee.” He stared at his dirt covered shoes.

I looked him deep in the eyes. “Larry, I’m getting you out of here because this is what I live for.”

I didn’t expect those words to come out of my mouth; I not only convinced Larry I was serious, I convinced myself, too.

The next day momentum hit us like a whirlwind. With a few phone calls and Google searches, I got Larry into detox at a local hospital. Five days later, I picked up a new man from that hospital. We spent the next two days in line under the scorching sun waiting to get Larry entered into a substance abuse program to which he was eventually admitted.

He called me recently to say thank you.  “I’m gonna make it this time.”

I believe him. From that day on my selfish thoughts, my fear of failure, and the sense of limitations placed on my youth began to die. I went to the streets because I wanted to live deliberately. Larry taught me more than the cliché determination and responsibility, he taught me to refuse to see my age as limitation, but as my strongest asset. He gave me a heart broken with compassion for the marginalized, but also deliberately determined to venture into the ugly corners of the world until they are made beautiful again.

home