Carl's Shoes

Recently, my wife Serenity and I have been able to have some "date" nights. They have consisted of going downtown and interacting with the homeless. Last night we went down with some friends of ours to a place called Transitional Youth (TY). TY is a place where youth can have a safe place to hang out, get fed, watch a movie, and play some games - cool place. Daniel, one of the leaders, is doing some really awesome work there.

I usually put very little expectations on our activities, probably because I don't put much mental effort into being intentional and praying through how God can use me specifically to minister to the people I come in contact with, not just homeless, but in my day to day walk. As we were praying prior to going inside TY, Serenity prayed about how scared and nervous she was about going in, and that made me get scared and nervous and I stopped focusing on how He was going to use me, and began to focus on my own awkwardness and shortcomings relationally. Never a good thing. So that set the stage.

The first 30 minutes I felt awkward, and nervous. Tim, one of the friends who introduced us to TY, was playing pool with a kid. I like pool, I like to compete, I desperately wanted to break the ice and engage with someone, so I decided to watch their pool game. I think this kid could smell the awkwardness on me. After watching for a few minutes, I decided to introduce myself. I asked, "what's your name," and without looking at me, responded with "does it really matter," and continued to shoot pool. I actually thought to myself. . . . "does it." How superficial was my approach to this guy? Did I want to know this kid, or did I want the awkwardness to go away? He had a valid response.

Earlier I had a conversation with a guy named Carl, he was probably late 20's. He was mentally ill, so the conversation flowed in and out of where he had been, things he had done, and cyborgs and computer chips placed in his brain. A really weird place to be, especially when you feel a demonic presence around him, but you feel God is asking you to keep the conversation going. I felt compelled to continue talking with him. There was a sweetness to him, I could obviously tell he was hurting, and he had pain from his past. He was revealing this to me in small pieces; group homes, foster care, physical abuse from others in the group homes, jail, hurt, pain, and on top of that, a mental illness that plagued him. A patchwork of his story goes something like this: He lived in California, was in a variety of foster homes, ended up in a group home where he got beat up, which resulted in some damage to his head and face, began using, and for one reason or the other, went to jail multiple times.

God kept bringing my eyes to his feet. I remember the Holy Spirit saying: "He looks to be your shoe size." As the night went on, I ended up playing ping pong with him. My desire to build his self esteem was blown away by my desire to win at everything (I'm still working on that one). We blew right past 21 points (usually the place where one person wins) and played to something like 52-23 when I said, do you want to start over 0-0, and play to 11? Carl started playing and I lost 11-9. God humbles you, even through ping pong. For being non-coherent with many of his thoughts and ideas, Carl was a pretty good foos ball player as well. Turns out, group homes and foster care have a lot of ping pong and foos ball tables.

I went to the kitchen and got him a soda. Once again, as I was drinking my soda, my eyes fell to his shoes and I heard once again "your shoe size." I said "Dude, do you want my shoes?" He responded by talking about how uncomfortable his shoes really were, I think he misunderstood my question. I repeated it, "do you want my shoes?" After a little more nudging, Carl accepted. I have to be honest here, this was not a reluctant gift. I have plenty of shoes, I actually have another pair almost identical to the ones I offered, plus my reasoning for giving my shoes up was almost self-centered due to the fact that in Under the Overpass, Mike Yankowski lays out a situation almost identical to this, where he spoke about his flip flops and the pain and blood from stubbing his toe to a group of Christians he encountered. Their eventual response was, "we'll be praying for you," as they walked out the doorway, in perfectly good flip flops. I couldn't NOT give up my shoes, my own guilt would be overwhelming.

So, I wore Carl's shoes home, they weren't too bad. As we prayed on the way home, it hit me, I may literally be in his shoes, but I'm not "in his shoes." I don't have to find a safe place to lay my head down for the night. I don't have to search for my next meal. My heart began to break for Carl, knowing that right then (RIGHT NOW), he is on the streets, possibly hungry, possibly scared, and probably confused.

If I truly want to "be the least" how could I accomplish that by giving my left over junk to Goodwill and having them redistribute the wealth God has blessed me with. What better way could I have symbolically showed Carl that what is mine is his, he is important, and ultimately God loves him. I don't think Carl understood that last night, but if he encountered that every day, every night, that demon who is using him, confusing him, and controlling his every thought would flee. It would have to. The love it would encounter, the people it would come across, that spirit would run, because it fears Christ, and Christ is love. I pray that God gives me a supernatural understanding that He is in me, there is no need for fear and awkwardness and that I can continue to take advantage of His love by pouring it out to others.