from Loaves & Fishes, March-April 1994

A GIFT OF TRUTH

by Donna Barnette

As I walked down the streets of Tucson, Arizona, I almost stumbled over a man sitting on the sidewalk next to his shopping cart. I looked down as he held out his hand. His eyes were bluer that a robin's egg and sadder than a blood hound's. "Hey, can you spare some food?" he asked. "Sure," I replied, as I sat down next to him and held out my bag of trail mix. I asked him how it was going.

Did I really want to know how this man was doing? I had just spent a challenging time in Mexico living with people who are oppressed and who have little political power to change their situations. Now that I was back on this side of the border I did not want to see more oppression. We have choices and voices here-don't we?

When Dave began to talk I felt the despair rise from within my soul from the realization that the sense of powerlessness thrives on both sides of the border. Dave had had a horrible day. He told me about the rejection he had experienced from social services. He felt it from society in general. He had become unable to cope with the stress of the streets while the voices in his head screamed for dominance. Dave wanted to die. He had thought all day about killing himself. As he shared his feelings, I tried to relax and listen while people passed us by and occasionally threw a coin into the cup that sat in front of us.

Dave's story did not surprise me because it had familiar sounds that I have heard from lots of homeless people. But this man's voice resounded a despair I have rarely heard. Dave is a man who has lost his wife and daughter, who has been in prison and mental institutions, who has mental illness but is without medication, who hears voices within that fight for his attention, who does not fit the requirements for public assistance, who is a recovering addict that wants to "pick up", who has been rambling around for years in search of "home." He said, "I cannot think of one reason to live anymore. I have spent the last two hours trying to figure out how to end it all." I listened and believed him. A deep sigh came from within us both. I joined him in the despair.

I could not think of a reason for Dave to live either. He had tried everything. I had no hope to offer him. I could not tell him lies that his life would change with time, that people would soon be embracing and understanding of mental illness, that one day the systems, institutions and "powers that be" would be willing to hear from and share with the outcast people of this world. I simply could not fill him with empty words. He had heard enough of those.

After some time, I asked about his mother. He said that he had a mom and dad who lived in Texas. He had called his mom and she had suggested that he do something to get arrested. Perhaps he could cut his wrist so that people might take him seriously and help him get the medications he needed. If he could get to Texas, maybe he could stay with them for a while until he got his life together. Another deep sigh. The only way he could even fathom going to Texas was by a boxcar train. Dave explained how he had travelled by train many times and how he must be prepared. It was somewhat dangerous. He would need some simple things like a can opener, a flashlight, a backpack and a blanket -- things that did not seem too big for me to consider but obstacles that seemed so much grander to Dave.

Soon he began to cry. He was very embarrassed. Dave stood up quickly and said, "I gotta go." I sat there on the sidewalk and watched him push his cart down the street. He moved slowly with his head held down. He disappeared onto a side street.

It was impossible for me to move. I sat there with such a feeling of despair. Why did I not have the words that would save this man's life? How could I just let him die alone on the street? After what seemed like hours I got up with the leftovers of the bag of trail mix that he left behind. I reached down and pulled out a bill from my wallet. It was half of what remained for the rest of my trip. I folded it and tossed it into the bag.

I walked until I found him crouched down trying to light a cigarette through the tears. I called his name and touched his arm and put the bag down on the cart, "Dave, you forgot this. Hey Dave, for what its worth, I want you to know that I care if you live or die. In fact, I know a lot of people who care about folks in your situation and who want to help do something to change them. Sometimes, we feel despair too. My mom had mental illness. I have my own battles. It is not your fault that you have voices. You need medications. I feel like I cannot offer you anything. But Dave I do care." And as I walked away my tears began to flow, the same way Dave's had when he left me earlier on the sidewalk.

I tried to gain composure as I arrived at the house I was sharing with fifteen other people. While I showered and dressed to go out for dinner, I felt feelings of failure. Here I am a seminary student who believes in the liberation from all oppression, who believes that each of us has the power to change our lives, and yet I could not share the Truth with this man. I felt powerless too. Where was the Truth on that street? It only seemed to reveal Itself in tears and words of caring. I did share my little amount of money with him. Did I buy my way out? These and other questions plagued my mind as we walked to the restaurant. While with the rest of the group who were celebrating being back to the "real world" that has hot water and central heat, I thought about Dave. We ate, laughed and talked about our experiences and I wondered if he was alive.

And then the weirdest thing occurred. While I was leaving the restaurant I saw Dave walking toward the bathroom. Of all the restaurants in Tucson, Dave was in this one. His eyes were still blue but now shining with hope. He asked me to wait a moment for him. I couldn't imagine what was happening. When he returned he led me over next to the cash register to show me what he had bought with the money the found in the bag of trail mix. I looked down and saw a child size backpack for hiking leaning up against the register. He said smiling, "I'm going home. I've started to acquire the things I need to make the trip." I couldn't believe it. I wanted to cry. Home...how we all long to go home.

As the others left, I went over to his table where he was having a meal like a human being and talked to him. I told him how awful I had felt about my not having any hope to give him. He thanked me for caring. Then he walked me out and recited a poem that he had written in an asylum years ago. I stood there on the sidewalk and listened to his passionate recounting of his life and the strangers who were looking in. He was asking them to look within themselves before judging, to listen before speaking. It was absolutely chilling with Truth and soothing with compassion. Once again this man left me speechless. Oh, the life that this man had to give. He truly was a gift to me. I thanked him for his gift of Life to me. I gave him my address and asked him if he would write the poem down and send it when he arrived in Texas. We embraced and smiled into each others eyes and silently thanked God.

As I've reflected on my encounter with Dave, I have come to realize that God's love did reveal itself that day through me and Dave. We gave each other ourselves, as meager as they seemed. I really heard his despair as I listened to him and he really heard mine. But the light that shines within each of us was able to somehow join together and raise us both out of our darkness. And we were able to celebrate the Life within. I continue to feel despair as I am sure Dave continues to because the situations and issues have not changed for our outcast brothers and sisters. But I will hold tight to the knowledge of something grander than systems, something more powerful than institutions that oppress, and something more liberating than death within each of us. I will claim the inherited light that never leaves us totally in the dark, that overcomes death and raises us up to new levels of awareness and love for ourselves and one another. I will remember that every person has a gift of Life to share if we will take time to receive it from one another. For me, that is where the real Truth lies.