Today I am back in beautiful, gorgeous, warm Orange County, California, which has truly become one of my favorite places, for all of the reasons I just stated. And for many more.
I love my work here; I've made friends here. The ocean is here. I think I have grown here. And I met Pete here.
I first wrote about Pete, my homeless friend, over a month ago. That is when I met him. Oh, I had seen him at the Starbucks I frequent in Brea, California, but I chose to ignore him. Too busy or too messy. Take your pick, based on the day.
But something made me stop and pause on February 25, a day like any other day. In a hurry, on the way to work, I saw Pete again. But this time I SAW Pete. As a person, as a soul. As someone who deserved to be spoken to and to be seen.
I talked to him that morning, and many mornings since. But then I went back to Denver and he was pushed to the back of my mind. Not always, but mostly. I have thought of him and prayed for him, off and on, since. But out of sight often means out of mind, for the most part.
When I found out I was coming back here this week, I instantly thought of Pete. Oh, I thought of other things too. But he was in the forefront. I mentioned to my best friend, Melissa, just the other night, how I was looking forward to seeing him again and she nodded and smiled, saying I had wanted to be more present and I was now doing it. I mentioned it to my husband as well.
Last night, as I prayed with Ric, he said something profound that really caught me off-guard. "God, I pray that Erin does not see Pete because he is no longer homeless." WOW. It.Blew.My.Mind. What a way to pray! What a way to think.
In my selfishness, I wanted to see Pete again, wanted to cajole him into letting me buy him something, anything, to make me feel better. About me. About him. About life. I never thought about the possibility that I would return, and he may not be there. Only in the sense that he could be dead. Not in the sense that God could do something so miraculous that he would no longer be on the street. So typical of me to think about the worst-case scenario and to put God into a box.
So, when I arrived at Starbucks this morning and I saw him, his head leaned up against a cement post, I felt both relieved and sad, all at once. Happy to see him, but sad that he was still in the same predicament. But how often had I prayed that God would take him out of his circumstance? Probably not much, if at all. More that God would be WITH him in his circumstance. Because of my husband, my prayers for Pete will be forever changed.
I said hello right away and smiled, he responded with a knowing look and said hello. I asked how he was, and he asked how I was. That alone was an interesting dialogue. Of course, I asked him what I could get him and of course he said nothing. But he looked down at his three bags before saying that. And I could tell he wouldn't mind SOMETHING. Water? No. Coffee? No. Anything? No, I am fine, he said.
Why is it that the Italian in me can simply not take no for an answer, especially where food is concerned? I bought him a bottled water and a banana. Who, after all, cannot use those two essentials? I went outside and laid them on the same concrete post he rested his head on moments earlier.
I asked if he remembered me and he said yes, then motioned with his hands from the parking lot, to the door. Yeah, you are the woman who is always here, always pestering me, I imagined he thought. I explained that I live in Colorado and hadn't been here for a while. And that my husband and I prayed for him just last night.
His smile brightened (he doesn't wear a mask). "Really?" he said. "Thank you." I told him the story of how I wanted to see him, but my husband prayed that I wouldn't because he would no longer be homeless. I'm not sure he understood me because I, unlike him, am burdened by my mask-wearing. Nothing about it increases good communication, especially from a distance.
When I texted Melissa about talking with him, she asked how he responded and if he wants to be homeless. I said I didn't know, but that might be a good question to ask him. I sure do have some wise people in my life.
I told Pete that I pray for him all the time and had even written about him. His look of surprise was priceless. "Oh, no, now you've got me scared," he said. I replied that I'm a writer, so I write. He intimated that he would like to read what I wrote. Maybe I will have to print it out for him. Suddenly, that seems more intimate than I want to go. Would he approve of what I wrote? Would he see it as good? Or accurate?
If he needed anything, shoes or whatever, I told him I would help. He smiled, nodded and thanked me. He thanked me again for praying for him, then said, "God is working on me every day."
I said, "Yeah, me too."
Then I said, "Your name is Pete, right?" He said yes, never asking how I knew. If it had been me, I would have been paranoid, "Who told you my name? How do you know me?" Life is about survival for him, not the foolishness that weighs us down. Perhaps he was simply happy to be known.
Not forgetting my manners, I said, "My name is Erin." He repeated it back, then told me it was nice to meet me. So, it's official now. We know each other's name. No turning back.
I thought about what he said, about God working on him. He so totally is. He is working on Pete and He is working on me, both at the same time, in different ways. It is mind-blowingly amazing that He saw fit to cause our worlds to collide: a Starbucks addict from Colorado and a recovering alcoholic from California. But He does His best work in unlikely circumstances. We simply need to open our eyes.
I stand in awe, too, because I wonder who gets the bigger blessing in all of this. As if that is not obvious. The most rhetorical of rhetorical questions.