Who Can You Give Your Bagel?

There are sometimes when I read something, and I am so inspired to share it that I immediately update my Facebook status, type my 140 characters on Twitter, and then, point my browser to Blogger to get the word out. This is one of those posts.

Since we moved to California, I have been even more aware of the issue of homelessness, because frankly, on every corner, I am seeing it. It's more prevalent here than it was in our former home state of South Carolina. Even though we live in a little suburban area well outside of the city of San Francisco, I see it. Every day.

The problem with seeing it every day is that you start to get used to it. It is sad but true. In the first days when we moved here, I was stopped in my tracks by seeing a person sleeping in the doorway of my local bank. Five months later, I notice, but I am not quite as frozen in place with each sighting.

Please take a few moments to read this piece posted by Julianna Morlet this morning. A friend of mine shared this on Facebook, and her comments on the post made me click through and read. I was moved to tears.

I struggle a great deal with faith, religion and how some people judge or hurt others in the name faith. But this post and these words are the best example of "walking the walk" of being a compassionate human being, and remembering to give, listen, and pay attention...to everyone.

This is a reminder to all of us that those struggling with homelessness, addiction, mental illness, and other tragic circumstances that take control of their lives are someone's child, someone's sibling, someone's parent...someone's connection to another life. Thank you Julianna Morlet for writing this, and to my friend Lori for sharing this today.

(I am sharing her post in its entirety here, as I don't want you to miss a word)

Who Can You Give Your Bagel?

by Julianna Morlet

 

"Whoever has a bountiful eye will be blessed, for he shares his bread with the poor." Proverbs 22:9 (ESV)

 

I woke up at 5 a.m., hit my snooze button, dragged myself out of my warm sheets and started my normal-every-Tuesday-morning-routine. I drove to Starbucks, swapped the typical weather jokes with my favorite barista, ordered my grande coffee and bagel, and walked out the glass door.

 

What wasn't routine was the scraggly teenage boy I ran into on my way to my truck. He was asking for something. Though I didn't clearly hear him, I assumed it was money.
 

I told him I was sorry but I didn't have any, and continued on.

 

He didn't ask again and he didn't pester me. But something in my head did. Did he ask for money or food?

 

Quickly, I spun around and asked, "Do you need food?" His reply was so innocent and affirmative. I held out my goodie bag. "Here ya go, a toasted bagel with cream cheese made just for you." He smiled so big, I thought his lip ring was gonna pop out.

 

I didn't think anything of it until I got in the truck and started pulling away. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the boy peeling open the cream cheese, carefully and joyfully, like it was Christmas morning.

 

On my drive to the office, I wept like a broken-hearted mother.

 

I didn't know this boy. Had no idea what kind of trouble or circumstances got him to the streets, but I did know he was someone's son. And if my son were out on the streets, asking for food at 6:30 in the morning, I'd want that busy-looking girl to stop and give him her bagel.
 

Almost a month later, my mother forwarded me an email she had received from a woman in her Bible study. It read:

 

"Hi Alma, Viola told me she read Julianna's blog which talked about giving a hungry teenage boy her bagel. Viola wondered if it was my son Kyle because of the lip ring Julianna mentioned. I was overwhelmed with emotion and gratitude for her compassion. He was hungry and she gave him something to eat. I have attached a picture of Kyle to show Julianna to see if he is the one she fed that morning. If not, I know there is another mother out there that would be very grateful for her compassion if she knew."

 

I scrolled down to see the face of the boy and gasped as my eyes instantly filled with tears. It was him! The boy had a name and it was Kyle. But more than that, he had a mother. And now she knew someone had taken care of her son, even if it was just a small meal.
 

We are not all called to mission fields far away. We are not all called to pastor a church or lead a women's Bible study. However there is one thing we are all called to do as God's people: we're all called to stop, to be aware of the hurting around us, and to have compassion. We are called to share our bread with the poor.

 

The Lord asks us to care. He calls us to be on the lookout for those who need our time and kindness. And yes, our bagel and cream cheese too.

 

Check out the video of Julianna interviewing Kyle's mom:

 

 

To read the original post, click here.

Click here to go to Julianna's personal blog.

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Homecoming: The Tragedy at Richmond High

On Saturday night, October 24 at Richmond High School in California, many students were enjoying their annual homecoming dance and festivities. In a back alley at that same school, a fifteen year old girl was gang raped by as many as 10 men, while another 10 people watched.
When I first read this story, I felt physically ill. I know we are all faced with headlines that shock us every day, each more horrible than the last, it seems. But this story, and this girl have haunted me.

Her life will never be the same. I can’t even begin to think how you recover from something so traumatic and brutal. Rape in any form is horrific and devastating, and reading any story about an attack involving rape is painful. But I cannot wrap my mind around 20—TWENTY—people involved in an attack, and no one having a conscience. How does that happen? I understand the psychological theories—this group mentality takes over, but still. It seems so implausible to me that 20 people can all randomly come together and simultaneously lose their humanity.

At this point, it appears that the bystanders can’t be charged. The police do have suspects and there have been arrests. But my thoughts have never left this young girl. After the attack, the rapists left her critically injured and unconscious under a bench. She had to be airlifted via helicopter to a hospital where she spent several days, finally being released later in the week. I have felt such an urge to reach out to her somehow. I knew the authorities would protect her identity, and rightfully so, but I have thought of her every day since reading the initial article.

A friend of hers has spoken out, describing her coming to the dance in a purple sequined dress and faux diamond earrings. I remember those incredibly awkward years when nothing makes sense…and how hard it was to fit in and feel accepted. Her friend said that this girl struggled to fit in. I thought back to how much I didn’t like dances, and often didn’t attend- afraid of my own awkwardness, too self conscious to even pick a dress, fearing how I “wouldn’t” look instead of how I would. I can honestly say that I never, ever felt I was beautiful or even attractive throughout grade school and high school. I think so many of us go through that. And to think of this young girl, dressed up, going to this dance-an innocent thing we have all done at one time or another during our school years—and then to lose her youth, her innocence and far too much more—is almost too much to comprehend.

I am afraid to see the next news stories once the suspects and their lawyers get their sound bytes. Maybe I am mistaken, maybe I will be surprised. But I doubt it. I don’t want to read about her reputation, her upbringing, mistakes she made, if she was drinking, or what she was wearing. I don’t want to read about the rapists’ troubled upbringing, or how they were too drunk or high to know what they were doing, or that some were “pressured” by others to participate. I just don’t. There are NO excuses. NONE. Not for this. The age range of the rapists is suspected to be 15-21. But anyone of any age knows this is wrong. There is no gray area.

Her family has, with much grace I think, spoken out to the community, asking that the response to this tragedy not be more violence. They have asked that the community work to find ways that this will not happen again.

I so agree. Let’s do something—anything—so this kind of thing never happens again. But how do you even begin to know how to do that when the crime itself is impossible to understand?

As much as I don’t want anyone’s childhood to be used as an excuse for this, I do know that this is the only place to start preventing violence. It means raising children to be accepting, compassionate, kind, and with some sort of belief system rooted in decency. This is no small task. And I guess even when all that does happen, someone can grow up to be a criminal. But the odds are lessened.

It does take a village to raise a child. And that whole village, which includes any adult that touches that child’s life, has to be an example for that child to live by. Lofty aspirations I know.
My hope now is that this girl, even in her anonymity, can somehow be saved by a village. First, her immediate family and community, and then by those of us who only know her as the victim.

I didn’t know of a way to reach out, and today, found the solution online. If you feel so inclined, grab a card, a piece of paper, and send this young girl a note with your words, your kindness, your compassion.

Let her know her village is watching over her, even from afar.

The girl's school, Richmond High, is accepting cards and donations for her and her family.

Checks should be made out to the Richmond High Student Fund.

The checks and cards should be sent directly to the school:

1250 23rd St., Richmond, CA 94804-1011.

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