The Great Divide

As I wend my way through the chaotic streets of Minneapolis, I think how blessed I am to be here. There are people everywhere: sitting in doorways, asleep on park benches and steps, asking for coins or simply a sandwich. I see defeated faces, hopeful eyes and hands reaching out in need. Don't be fooled ~ these people have more to offer me than I have to offer them. When a wrinkled face lights up and overwhelms me with a smile I know that I am where I ought to be.

I only have a couple of dollars ~ who can put a price on the woman whose eyes soften as she rasps out, "Bless you, honey!"? What I wouldn't give to take her by the hand and find her a place where she could sleep quietly and be treated with the respect and compassion due to someone her age. All I can do is hand out smiles left, right and center and for the most part, I always receive one in return.

What about the young man wrapped up in a sleeping bag on the cement steps in the park? How did he get so trapped in hopelessness that loneliness is his daily fare? Or the woman in a dirty, torn blanket sitting in her wheelchair at the corner of Nicollet Avenue and 9th Street ~ who lost her home because she could find no work during the calamitous Covid crisis that stared us all in the face for over a year?

I had a friend named Cynthia two summers ago. I don't know where she slept, but she always had a blanket with her. She was a lively little cuss, about seventy years old, but when she wasn't getting in fights with store owners, she was laughing and cracking jokes. She would give me money to go and get her a coffee and something to eat, because she wasn't allowed in the cafes anymore. I genuinely liked spending time with her.

When the weather began to turn wintry, she told me that she was moving to Arizona to live with a family member. I don't know what happened to her there, but I saw her again last summer and she wore a vacant stare. There was no life, no laughter and no smiling face when I stopped and said hello she didn't even know who I was. It was heartbreaking. I haven't seen her since.

I was delighted to hear a success story a few weeks ago. A young man was walking around the park, talking (from what I could see) to himself in a cheerful voice. I watched him as I walked over to a seat and soon realized that he was talking to a stunned bird that was hopping around his feet. Minutes later he brought the bird over and sat by me. He was going to sit with it until it recovered, and he talked while we waited.

He had been homeless until a few of months before, but someone reached out to him and helped him get back on his feet. He was very happy about his circumstances; he now has an apartment, a girlfriend and friends. I already know he has a kind heart, because of his concern for the bird. (The bird flew away after a while, and we parted ways.)

These people are shifted around the city; they set up small camps in parks and then get kicked out. I have no idea where they send them, one day they are there and the next they are gone. But it sickens me that in such a rich country this is a major problem.

And yet I hear deep, rumbling laughter and jokes tossed back and forth, sometimes in my direction or at one of the others who inhabit the doorways. They still carry humanity in their hearts and it spills over onto those around them.

Don't think they are the only ones populating the streets; oh no...there are the middle-class, well-to-do and downright wealthy people out and about on any given day. Not one of them has ever said a prayer for me. Few even have a smile to share, and fewer still greet me. Yet they are considered the favored ones, with cool eyes that stare down lifted snoots and then look quickly away.

I feel as though I am rich with the opportunity to give and receive these small moments throughout my days, and I hope that in some small way I have added color and a measure of comfort to those who touch my heart as I make my way through the city.