I met Dave in Downtown Atlanta. He walked up with a book in hand and we instantly connected when he mentioned he was a fellow Douglasville native. Dave is 63 years old, and has been homeless now for two years. I asked to Dave to walk me to the bridge he sleeps under almost every night. It was about a two-mile walk so we had a little time to talk about his life.
He graduated from Douglas County high school and went into the Marine corp. He was in the Marines for 22 years (22 years of serving his country with blood, sweat, and tears, only to end up freezing under a bridge). He talked about how he likes to read and walk around to keep his mind off the elements, and the daily struggles of being homeless. As we were talking about the dangers of not knowing who would come up on you while sleeping on the streets, we approached the bridge he sleeps under.
He pointed to a patch of dirt under a column of the bridge and told me that’s where he sleeps. I asked him where his stuff was and he took me to some nearby bushes along a fence. There was nothing there. Everything Dave owned had been stolen. He didn’t seem too upset. He only mentioned how wrong it was for a homeless person to steal from another homeless person, and then we left. We walked back up the street to a parking lot so we could meet my friend Terence and film Dave’s story of how he became homeless.
"I came home from work one day, the couch was turned over, the tv was the house was a mess. I found my wife lying in blood on the kitchen floor with a hole in her head, blood still coming out. Somebody had broken in when I wasn't home. They shot her in the head. I picked her up and carried her to the hospital, but she died on the way there. Not long after my wife died, my rent started to go up. I told him I couldn't pay this much on my own. He said well you've got to go. They put all of my stuff out on the street. I went to Dahlonega for about six months. Then I went to Gainesville and lived in a tent city with about 30 other people. I started using drugs real heavy. Heroin, marijuana, meth. I started drinking alcohol too. A preacher told me if I didn't go to rehab I wasn't going to make it. So I told him if you know of a rehab I'll go. He said he knew of one in Waco Georgia, so I went."
You can’t fit the full despondency and despair of tragedy on a cardboard sign. You can’t get the full story in the shameful transfer of spare change. People’s stories are so important. We need to take the time to listen. We have to listen. These are real people with real pain out here on the streets. They aren’t always the victims of their own mistakes. How do you cope with finding the love of your life lying on the floor in blood with a hole in their head? How do you cope with them dying in your blood covered arms? Not only do you lose the one you love, but you’ve also lost their source of income. When the rent goes up, you can’t do it by yourself anymore. You end up on the streets with all of your stuff, nowhere to go. I know I personally would want to fill my body with every drug I could get my hands on. I’d want to become an alcoholic. I can’t even tell you how many friends in college who get blackout drunk every weekend just to escape the small trivialities college life may bring. So what position do we have to judge a person’s entire story based on an addiction? Our pain is important. How we get where we are is important. My story is important. Your story is important. The story of every person we see on the street is important. Dave told me he wished more people took the time to listen to his story.
“Sometimes I feel like I'm not wanted. No one cares. No one cares about Dave. After I lost my mom and my wife all I had was Dave. They look down on the homeless people. They think we've been out here so long that it's warped our minds warped and they don't know what they're doing. But that's not true. You've got some intelligent homeless people out here on the street. You don't really know me and know who I am until you sit down and talk to me and get to know me. I'm not really a bad guy. I'm a really nice guy. I like to help people if I can. If they'll let me.”
People like Dave don’t just need money. They need people too. We all need people. People to cheer us on and make us feel wanted. Begging for money on the side of the road can’t alleviate the begging of the heart for acceptance. In this way we are all beggars. We have all experienced the poverty of loneliness at one point in our lives or another. We’ve all felt the severe hopelessness of not being wanted. On top of their physical poverty, homeless people also have to struggle with their excommunication from society– the poverty of being alone and unwanted.
We asked Dave what the hardest part about being homeless is.
“The hardest thing about being homeless is you never know who you're gonna come up on. I've seen a lot living on the street. I've seen stabbings. I've seen shootings. I've seen a man get his throat cut from ear to ear. It doesn't feel too comfortable [living under a bridge]. You never know who's gonna come up on ya. You don't know if you're going to wake up or not. I've got to get out from under there.”
We have the power to change people’s stories. We can step in. We can help. We can alleviate some of the pain. Dave is old. Getting a job and making enough money to get off the streets probably won’t be an option for him. It is going to take people like you and I to get him, and people like him, off the streets. We can’t ignore them. We can’t ignore their stories. To ignore them is to ignore ourselves. It’s ignoring Jesus.
“If I don't do something I'll die out here. I want people to know we need to get people off the streets.”
If you’re wondering how to care for the poor, the widow, or the orphan– if you’re wondering how to love your neighbor– start with listening to their story.