Soapy water dripped from my baggy gloves, as I rinsed the crumbs out of the dish rag and continued wiping down the tables. Passing between the men and women sitting hunched over their trays of food, my nose crinkled under the stench emanating from their dirty jackets. The men's faces were half-hidden by facial hair, and wrinkles tainted the once young faces. Although the odor could have easily turned someone off from engaging with these people, somehow my heart was beating for them.
After an hour of wiping down tables, serving cups of water, and clearing trays, I sneaked inside the chapel doors to where the guitar was ringing out songs of worship. I quietly walked to the far corner of the room, and listened. Several men belted out in praise along with the leader, while others still fumbled around with the words. I heard an unfamiliar song in the background. It was the men who slept, snoring in their chairs. No one knows where they had slept the night before, or if they had slept at all. But in the safety of the chapel and the music, they slept unafraid.
I scanned the room, watching the men worship. One little man near the front caught my attention. I had seen him earlier serving his friends, but I didn't guess that he was homeless like them. In the front, he stood. He was the only one standing. He stretched his arms to heaven, and from the back of the room, I heard him singing. He knew all the words, and I saw an unexplainable passion shine from within him. Unashamed, he sung out, unafraid, he lifted his hands, and unaware of my watching, he closed his eyes meditating on every word he sang. A man, whose world and dreams had been shattered by homelessness, still held on to a promise that could never be dashed by the storms of life. His hope was rooted in Someone bigger, in Someone who promised him life. Watching his determination and belief in that promise bubble forth in his worship really moved me.
As the chapel session came to a close and the sleeping mats and blankets were all laid out for the homeless men, we made our way out the door, saying goodbye to the many grateful hearts who thanked us as we left. One lady who served alongside me that night told me about her conversation with the same little man who I still couldn't get out of my mind. She told me she had asked him his name over dinner. But he had only replied with, "Ah, that's not important. All you need to remember is this: that you came to the Rescue Mission tonight and were really blessed!"
His words stuck with me.
I had mixed feelings about leaving that night. I was tired but also heartbroken that while I was sleeping on a bed full of warm blankets, these men were only sleeping on thin mats or cement. I had a roof over my head, while these men only had a canopy of stars. I had promised food for breakfast the next morning, when these men had no guarantee when their next meal would be. As I wiped down tables earlier, I asked one man if he was getting enough. His plate was partially full, and I knew that seconds were unlikely. He replied with a grin, "More than enough!"
How could these poor, dirty, hopeless people still be smiling and thankful, when all they knew and loved had been stripped away from them? How could their hearts be so full, when they had so little? Even in a couple hours that night, their hearts' reaction to a simple meal and a few worship songs had really touched me. Their joy and love encouraged me. Their faith in the midst of their trials strengthened me. Their gratitude and contentment blessed me. While I went there to bless them, God used them to bless me.
"All you need to remember is this: that you came to the Rescue Mission tonight and were really blessed!"
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