I Feel Like Going Home

Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in.
~Robert Frost, from "Death of the Hired Man"

Maybe I have lived in a City too long, so much so that my compassion has been urbanized -- urbanized as in I see the homeless every day, and more often than not, inured to them, I turn away. I see them asleep on the sidewalks wrapped in their black plastic bags. I watch them beg on street corners, hands outstretched to the oblivious who rush by. I hear them as they pass by me on the sidewalk, muttering to themselves as they weave in and out of the crowds of people who have learned not to see them. I know I have learned not to see the homeless or even acknowledge their presence, those denizens of the dark who come out in the daylight to seek sustenance from any hand that will feed them.

One Saturday, on my way to have a stylist wash my gray away, I waited at a red light. Three cars ahead of me, to my left, stood a young man holding a homemade cardboard sign: "Travelin [sic] and hungry." I immediately put on my blinders, the ones I use to ignore those roadside hustlers with their clever signs, "Starvin like Marvin," or those I see as designed to poke the guilt button, "God Bless You." But, this day I could not ignore that young man and I do not know why I could not ignore him. I did my best to ignore him, especially when the light turned green, a sign I took as my go-ahead to drive right past him.

Yes, my mind said "Go," but my heart said "No." I looked into the rear view mirror to see if there were any impatient drivers behind me -- there were none. I reached into my wallet and pulled out a five dollar bill. I handed it out the window to the young man whose youthful features said he should have been hanging out at the Mall with his buddies on an early Saturday afternoon rather than hanging out on the side of a street corner begging.

I handed him the money and as I looked into his face, I noted what appeared to be fresh bruises and scars on his face. I felt a tear in my heart and as I drove away. I wanted to scream out to him, "Go home; go home!!!" Of course, I do not know what home is to that young man; maybe, it is a place worse than standing on the street begging. I do not know, but I like to think that there is someone, somewhere, waiting for their child to come home, someone, much like that biblical father of the prodigal son, standing and peering down the road, hoping to catch sight of a familiar figure headed in their direction.

How many of us have become so trapped in our own circumstances, that we cannot or will not go home? We are bruised, battered and broken, but we stay stuck in our barren places rather than return home. Home can be literal or it can be spiritual -- a safe place of welcome and support. Wherever, or whatever home is for you, aren't you tired of standing on the corner begging for attention? Isn't it time to go home -- someone just might be waiting for you to return, even if you don't think they are.

Matthew 11: 28 Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. 29Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. 30For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

Feels like home to me; is it time for you to go home?

#imjustasking