"God bless you."

"God bless you". It's all the sign said. Handmade. Written in black sharpie. The man holding was sitting on the sidewalk in San Francisco. He was surrounded by his belongings. A shopping cart filled with plastic bags. The bags overflowing with scraps. A backpack was next to him. It had a sleeping mat strapped to it. Sticking out of the open pocket was a journal and a pen. Next to his right hand was a small can that a few people would drop money in. He never said anything when people would give him money. But when they would talk to him, that's when he responded. A deep, warm voice. One that had all the qualities of kindness, joy and compassion. But also pain.

I talked to him for awhile. It wasn't much. He never told me his name. But he grew up in the city. He was always on the outside looking in. Never part of the in-crowd. Mediocre grades and athletics. He said he was nothing special. Always looking in at the rest. He never went to college. He told me he never accomplished anything in life until he had lost everything. Losing everything, he said, was the start. With that, he turned to his bag and pulled out his journal and a Bible. He held the bible up smartly, touching it to his temple. Said more to himself, than to me, that the Bible was the only thing he kept when he lost everything else. And then he opened it too Matthew 19. The parable of the Rich Young Man. Smiling at me, he laughed and said he was never rich. He didn't sell all he had, he lost it all. But he showed me what he went to for streangth, and in that, he showed me a bit of who he really is.

We talked some more. Small talk. About the city. I offered to buy him lunch. He shook his head and said no thanks. He told me that just by talking to him, I had given him more than he could have asked for. And then he pointed at the people walking past us. The people in their suits. Bluetooth earpieces. Briefcases. Running to catch cabs. Pouring in and out of the office buildings. And then he said something interesting. He pointed out that in that moment, everyone of them was lonely. Not lonely in the sense that they didn't have anyone. Just, lonely. No one to talk to. No one giving them the time of day other than for work. Then he looked me in the eyes, and he thanked me. And the in the same breath, he told me to be sure to amount to something in life. Told me I would go on to do great things. Told me that he'll pray that I'm never lonely the way the world is. And the conversation ended.



It's an interesting concept he put out there. The idea of being alone. He reaches everyone by holding a cardboard sign. His sign. Made with his own hands. The rest of us communicate impersonally. Facebook. Myspace. Texting. Twitter. Email. Even a phone call is impersonal these days. No one takes the time to write a letter anymore. No one want's to get personal. And in that, the people who we would think are the most alone, really are the ones who have it all. They want to get personal.






I'm cringing as I write this, knowing it falls into the impersonal category. But I want to share it, and this is the best way for it at the moment.