I had lunch with a homeless man today. I'm not saying this out of self-righteousness. I didn't do it so I could brag about it in a blog post later. I did it to combat all the fear and anger and sadness and hopelessness that was going around today. I did it for me, for my own well-being, because I didn't want to succumb to all the negativity. I needed to add more kindness to the world.
So I walked up to a homeless guy I've seen around a lot, reached out my hand, introduced myself, and asked him if he'd like to have lunch with me. He was receptive and friendly and so incredibly kind. He warned me that he smelled bad! This dude who has nothing but what he can carry in his bookbag, this dude who sleeps on the front porches of vacant houses every night, this dude who clearly has more important things to worry about, was concerned about my comfort. He didn't want to bother me with his stench. Of course, I reassured him that it didn't bother me, and we decided on a place to eat. While I was filling up my drink, he got the ketchup and napkins for our table. We had a lovely conversation and a lovely meal and then we went our separate ways, but not before he thanked me about a bajillion times.
But here's the thing, I felt grateful. I felt grateful for his company and for the opportunity to do something kind for someone else. I felt grateful for my own fortune, for my financial ability to pay for that lunch. I felt grateful for the nurturing, beautiful women who were watching my kids at that moment, allowing me 30 minutes to have lunch with a new friend. That gratitude renewed me.
Gratitude is powerful. When my grandmother died this past August, gratitude is what got me through the grief. I asked my loved ones to help me. I gave them each a task. They helped me take care of the children. They helped clean my house. They helped me go grocery shopping. They helped me keep living while that fog of grief surrounded me, and I was grateful for them. Gratitude was the first positive emotion I felt after her death, and it gave me hope that I would eventually be able to feel happiness again.
I did that intentionally, reached out to other people for help. Partly because I knew they would want to help, but partly because I already knew about the power of gratitude. I learned about it when I was a child, from my neighbor, Ann Marie. When we were new to the neighborhood, she welcomed us. She kissed us on both cheeks and made us family. She fed us and mothered us and looked after us. She became my mother's mentor and best friend. She gave out kindness always, even while she battled cancer. She gave out kindness and gratitude, and she didn't succumb to the hopelessness. When she went home to the Lord, she did it with hope in heart for a good future for her children. And I know she wouldn't be disappointed today to see her children, now grown, carrying on her legacy of kindness and gratitude.
There are people I have been kind to who wonder why I'm doing it. There's a family with twin boys who were born a year after mine. I give them lots of hand-me-downs and unsolicited advice. They say, "You've been so amazing to us." But I'm not amazing. I'm just a wretched sinner like everybody else. Being kind to them is good for me. It heals me. It renews me. It keeps the hopelessness at bay.
So many people are feeling powerless today. They're wondering what they can do. They're wondering if there's even anything worth doing. They're lost in the fog of hopelessness. Friends, don't succumb to it. Go out, find some good that needs doing, and get it done. Be kind to someone, and let someone be kind to you. Add more gratitude to the world. Add more hope. This is how we'll heal.
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