Wednesday Witness: Hard Choices

The coldest I have ever been was during a late-season, black-powder deer hunt. I was sitting atop a ladder stand in the dark in January. The morning was bitterly cold following a storm that dropped more than two feet of fluffy snow, leaving clear skies and wind in its wake.
I had dressed for a long, cold sit while a friend attempted to push deer toward me from the other side of the section. I had not dressed for the half-mile march through knee-deep snow and buried brush that preceded my climbing the stand. By the time I was settled, I was also sweating, and once I was stationary, I shivered beneath my layers.

Even after sunrise, the air was frigid. My fingers ached as I held my rifle, and I clenched and unclenched my toes inside my boots, trying to maintain some semblance of feeling. (It was weeks before they lost the pin-prickly feeling from that morning.)

I was tempted to descend the ladder and move around to warm up, however, I stayed in place for multiple reasons:

• The desire to shoot a deer should one appear;
• The desire to avoid the ridicule of my hunting buddy upon finding me doing jumping jacks to stay warm; and
• The desire to remain where I was supposed to be to avoid a hunting accident or getting lost in an unknown woods.

But most of all, I stayed in the stand in the certain knowledge that this cold was only temporary. I was cold by choice, and it would last no more than a few hours, then I could get warm again.

It is always easier to persevere in suffering when an end is in sight. I think of this when I hear of students sleeping outdoors in boxes to raise money for the homeless. Insofar as the experience opens their eyes to the reality of outdoors and expresses solidarity with the poor, it is laudable. But since the experience is defined and temporary, it bears little resemblance to actual homelessness.

I’m learning that in my ministry with St. Vincent de Paul. I have yet to meet any local neighbors who are sleeping outdoors, but imagine sleeping in your car in the recent weather. How would you stay warm? Would you sacrifice meals to buy gas to run your vehicle periodically during the night? And speaking of meals, what would you eat? How would you warm your food, or keep it from freezing?

And what if there were no end in sight?

My first real experience with homelessness came when I arrived in New Haven, Connecticut, for college. Certain panhandlers were regulars on Yale’s campus, and while some appeared to have homes and income beyond begging, others clearly lived on the street. When winter arrived, you would see them huddled near steam grates or buried in old blankets, rugs, and garbage bags, trying to stay warm.

With typical youthful “wisdom” I told a friend, “If it were me, I’d start walking south. Why would anyone choose to live outside up north in the winter?”

Over time, I got to know a couple of the regulars who asked for money near my dorm. One enjoyed visiting with me, and one evening, he confided that he had a daughter in the neighborhood.

“I got mental problems,” he said. “I can’t get a job. I got no address. I can’t be with my wife or my little girl anymore. But I see them around. I want to be near her and see her grow up.”

In that moment, it clicked: He didn’t choose to be homeless, and he couldn’t just pick up and leave. He was suffering for his child. He was loving her, as best he could, as her father. Every day, he stood on the streets and asked Ivy League college students for change. And every night, he found some out-of-the-way corner and tried his best to stay warm and survive so he could see his little girl one more time. Day after day, night after night, with no end in sight.

God bless him. I wonder if I could be strong enough to do the same.

So let’s not forget those who have no home, no heat, no way to keep warm this cold winter. Most are doing the best they can in the worst of circumstances. Serve them if you’re able, donate if you can, and pray for them as neighbors and brothers and sisters in Christ. God bless your generosity!