Charlie

average Tuesday nights.

what are they good for? besides naming blogs after, that is. (haha?)

Tuesday nights. Hmmm. as i sit here, buried in the suburbs of this small tow

n, watching the white curtains flail as the breeze seeps through the window.... i can't help but feel somewhat secure. Admittedly. The consistency and silence of the small town life can be captivating. I'll admit, I like coming home to a quiet place. Business = loud. Rest = silence.

here, at home, despite the neighbors naked 3 year old hang

ing out the window next door, and his mother yelling something from the curb in spanish, it's a pretty nice resting place.

Sometimes when I'm here, at my parent's getaway island. In Suburbia. I miss Charlie. Charlie is the man who I first met on the streets of Downtown Dallas. a 5 foot 7 lanky, scrappy, black man who was wearing only a leather jacket, black jeans, and a sock cap. in the middle of December that is. He was standing outside of a gas station where I'd pulled up to ask for directions. without knowing what he was loitering for, I walked up and gave him one of t

he couple double cheesburgers I'd just bought at the McDonalds down the street. at 11:38 pm. in downtown Dallas, Texas. My life changed.

you see, it wasn't food he was after, it was quarters. quarters that would buy him a shower. in the car wash. beside the gas station. Where his old, rusty, beaten car was parked. With his fresh clothes (fresh-er than the ones he had on, mind you) laying on the hood.

He was looking for a shower. In the middle of December.

At a car wash.

wow

Everything I've ever had, and ever will have, suddenly fell into the category of 'unnecessary'

and I deemed myself spoiled.

he was not a beggar. he was homeless.

My heart fell out of my chest as this man began to tell me about how God had blessed him, and how he was trusting in God's continued blessing. He shared scripture with me, most of which I couldn't have recited myself. He explained to me, that there were two kinds of homeless. The ones who wanted to stay homeless. and the ones who wanted to get out.

"The Lord's goin' get me out'!"

-he shouted.

I gave him the couple bucks in cash that I had in my wallet, said a prayer with him, and pulled out of that gas station forever changed.

Tonight, as I sit here in quiet, peaceful suburbia, I think of Charlie. who is somewhere on the streets of Dallas, Texas. And I pray, that he gets out.