Encountering God on Bank Street

"What a cute boy!"

Why do street people always think she's a boy? I wonder to myself as we approach a man sitting on busy Bank Street holding a cardboard sign with a crumpled baseball cap open in front of him. But I try to be respectful of street people, I smile and respond, "Thanks".

"How old is he?"

"She's 18 months"

I expect this is as far as it will go but he continues.

"Oh! She's a girl. I have a girl a bit younger than her. One older, too"

This is going in a strangely normal direction.

He then tells me about his daughters and asks questions about Audrey. This conversation is no different than ones I've had with other dads of children Audrey's age. But it is unusual since he's sitting on a busy street in downtown Ottawa panhandling.

We swap anecdotes of life with little ones and as we continue talking he tells me why he's on the street. He attended college and worked two jobs while balancing family life until he had a mental breakdown and was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. He recently returned home to his wife and daughters but is unable to work until he completes sessions with a psychologist. Once he's healthy, it's back to school and work.

But he mostly wants to talk about how great it is to be a dad and how wonderful his wife is.

It hits me: there's little separating this man from Ryan.

Ryan will start school in a year and he could easily need to work several jobs to get our family through. If Ryan were to suffer the same illness we would be in very precipitous circumstances. We are very blessed to have lots of friends and family who would take us in and never allow Ryan to beg on the street. But beyond others' generosity we would not be able to maintain ourselves for long. I could get a job but that would lead to issues of childcare. It would take quite a few extraordinary circumstances to bring Ryan to beg but we have no guarantee it will never happen.

Audrey gets fussy. I tell the man it's nap time so we need to go but it was nice talking with him. I give him the contents of my wallet (about $4) but I wish I asked his name. I wish I said I would pray for him.

After I lay Audrey to sleep in her crib I go back into the living room and stress over whether to buy a haircut on Groupon. I've needed my haircut for months but have decided it's one thing that can wait until Ryan's working again. I buy it anyway. I think of the man on the street. The man who reminds me of my husband.

Perspective sets in.

Thankfulness takes hold.

Even when finances are extremely tight I can get my hair professionally cut. And for that I am truly grateful. Not because, for whatever reason, God has blessed us materially but because for right now we are fine. Right now I can give a person all my cash and know and wish I could have given much more. Tomorrow Ryan might be the one on the street but for today he is not.

"Though riches come and riches go, don’t set your heart upon them" reads Psalms 62:10. When I heard this in church a few days later I knew this is what God wants me to take away from my encounter. He's been peeling away the chaff of my false belief that money equals security for some time and I'm now beginning to see the grain of truth that lay buried. "Truly my soul finds rest in God; my salvation comes from him. Truly he is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will never be shaken" Psalms 62:1-2. Whether we have money, whether we don't, I have peace in Christ because He is my salvation.

O praise Him, O praise Him, hallelujah, hallelujah