One of the Least of These

His shoulders slumped wearily under his long trench coat  Two bulging suitcases pulled his arms down heavily to the ground. A tattered and dirty red backpack rested on his shoulders. His head was bent, as if he was carefully counting each tedious step as he walked along the grassy shoulder of the highway. The cars breezed past him without a second glance.

I wondered who he was and where he was going. My heart felt a pang of sadness for his plight, but I was unsure what to do. I had no cash to share, no food or water within easy reach. I sat at the stoplight, watching him walk past me on the edge of the highway.

My conscience battled within me. It demanded, "How can you call yourself a follower of Christ if you don't help someone so plainly in need?"

I argued to myself, "What if he's dangerous? What if he's mentally unstable and tries to hurt my child in the backseat? Surely I can't be expected to help a homeless stranger when I'm a lone female and an easy target, right?"

I reminded myself of how horrid it was to have no transportation in college- when I had to walk 2 miles to work (yes, in snow 3 feet deep (sometimes deeper) and YES uphill (but thankfully not uphill both ways)) in Rexburg, Idaho. I would often pray and plead the Lord to have someone stop and give me a ride, even just so I could get out of the biting wind into the shelter of an enclosed car for a moment. My heart was always filled with such deep gratitude anytime I was blessed with a brief ride. Sometimes my prayers were answered the way I asked. Sometimes they weren't.

In my mind I heard the scripture Matthew 25:40, which states, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

Those suitcases looked so heavy.

My heart won the argument with my mind, so I impulsively pulled over to park at a nearby gas station and prepared myself mentally to approach him. Before leaving my car, my mind once again spoke up, "How can you do this? You might be endangering your child! What kind of mother are you?!"

I hesitated in fear, then prayed to seek the Lords will. Did He want me to help this man? If so, I reasoned with myself that there was nothing to fear. Unfortunately, my heart was pounding so hard I couldn't feel the the quiet voice of the Spirit well enough to hear the Lord's answer. Drat.

I studied the man again. He was an older man, heavily whiskered with a white curly beard and slightly limping as he walked. He didn't LOOK dangerous....but you never can tell.

With a sigh of resolution, I prayed again, telling the Lord I was choosing to help this man and asking fervently for the blessing of safety. More than anything, I just wanted this person to know that someone loved him and cared about his burden of troubles. My fear again raised its head, telling me to go safely home and leave the scene. I gritted my teeth and stubbornly told myself, "At least if he's a maniac and kills me, I will have died trying to do a good deed. THAT must surely count for something on Judgement Day!"

I quickly jogged over to him, asking if I could give him a ride somewhere. He spoke under his breath in a thick Southern accent.  In our conversation his body language was unusual- he wouldn't make eye contact with me and he spoke in broken sentences. His voice was so quiet I had to strain to hear him. (By the way, his name was Quenneth.)

He asked if I could wait while he went into the store to buy some food with money he had collected while panhandling. I offered to watch over his luggage so he could shop unhindered. We loaded each large bag into my trunk, then he removed his coat and carefully folded it before placing it on the suitcases.

While I waited for him to return, I asked a stranger if they knew where the local homeless shelter was. Eyeing my wool coat and new van, he laughingly asked why I cared. I smiled and explained I was helping a homeless man today and was hoping to give him a ride there. The stranger (who was named John) stopped laughing and offered to lead me there since it was too difficult to give directions verbally.

After several minutes, Quenneth emerged from the store with a bag of food and laboriously climbed into my van. After arriving at the shelter, he asked if he could sit under a tree to eat his meal before we went inside. While Quenneth ate, John approached me in private and gave me $20 for my good deed. I protested in embarrassment  but he insisted and said, "Nice things should happen to nice people." I uncomfortably accepted the money and said I'd give it to Quenneth, since I had wished I might have cash to give him for his next meal. I was grateful to be given the resources so I could bless someone.

After John left, I sat with Quenneth in the shade and chatted. As I continued to observe him during our conversation, I realized he was mentally affected somehow. I was not sure if he had autism or schizophrenia, but he displayed symptoms of both disorders. His comments were so sad- in his mental state he couldn't imagine his life being any other way. He had been homeless as long as he could remember and did odd jobs to get by, sleeping outdoors every night.

My heart ached for him. It was obvious he had no prospects. Everything he owned was contained in his cumbersome suitcases that he diligently kept in sight at all times.

I know so many autistic children in our area, and today I felt pained as I contemplated their futures. What happens when their parents or caretakers die?  Would they become a homeless beggar, like this man? It all seemed so unfair.

Leaving Quenneth to eat, I ventured inside the shelter and spoke with the case workers to help him access local resources for work and lodging. Diego was very tired (it was over an hour past his naptime) and eager to get out of my arms and play. After making several phone calls seeking more information, I went to report my findings to Quenneth.

I wished I could fix all his problems. I wanted to just take away his troubles and bring a smile to his aged and weather-worn face. I wondered what the Savior would do. More than anything, I wanted him to feel loved. 

While he carefully ate crackers and sausage, I spoke about the love our Savior has for us and the joy his teachings bring me. I told Quenneth that no matter where he travels, he can always get help from the local Mormon church. I told him we help serve all of God's children, no matter what religion they personally follow. I also shared my belief that God knows our struggles and wants to help us feel peace.

 I asked if he had enough blankets for these cold nights. He did. Would he like a water bottle? No, thank you, he already purchased one. Did he have enough food to last a few days? He did. I pulled out the folded-up twenty dollar bill and pressed it into his calloused hands, wishing him a Merry Christmas. Confused, he asked "What is this? What did you give me?" Shock was evident in his voice as he unfolded the bill and whispered roughly, "A twenty?! For me?"

For the first time, he looked me in the eyes and said fervently, "God bless you!"


I want so much for the world to be a better place. My heart aches for a kinder world. I try to help it become that way.

I try to do one act of service each day for someone outside of my immediate family. I still often feel like my efforts are so small and almost worthless compared to the larger problems in our world. I dearly wish I could "make a difference", but my sphere of influence is so laughably small.

But I have an idea.

If everyone who reads this post would do one thing - just one!- to be kind to a stranger this week or give loving service, couldn't we make a big difference together? 

Think about it.

I see the stats for this blog- last month I had 1,500 visitors. If you all did one act of kindness each week for one month, that would be 6,000 good deeds! If you each did it for an entire year, that's a whopping 33,000 acts of service!

Wouldn't that be just lovely? Yes. Yes it would. Just imagine the possibilities: