Our team took a walk to fix an ice cream craving we all had after our last day of school. We made a split second decision to turn down a road we never quite walk on to go to an ice cream shop we usually don’t visit.
As we approached the ice cream shop, I looked down the road and in the distance I saw a familiar face in the street. About a month ago some of the boys and I picked up this old man who was intoxicated in the middle of the road. The same man was sitting in the middle of the same road with his cane on the ground next to him.
At first I figured no one had seen him yet to help him up. As I approached to help him up my heart broke with a twist of emotions as I watched a handful of people pass him without even glancing at him. My heart raced and my emotions grew stronger as a saw a bus quickly approaching from behind him simply slow down and swerve around him. The tires were inches from this mans hands and feet.
In a mix of infuriation and sorrow I picked up the pace. It was like this man was completely invisible.
He smiled at me as he grabbed my extended hand. He started talking as the boys lifted him up off the street. He was so intoxicated that he couldn’t hold up his own weight, so we led him to the curb to sit.
He continued to talk to us as if we were old friends. The only problem was that with his missing teeth and slurred Spanish, it was almost impossible to understand what he was saying. All we could make out was that his name was Antonio, that he’s partially deaf in one ear, and that he couldn’t stop saying something about his “casa,” “musica,” and “ingles.”
At this point we didn’t know what else we could do. We got him out of the street. He’s safe now, do we just leave him on the sidewalk? The Good Samaritan in Luke 10 didn’t just take the injured man off the side of the road into the shade. He took care of him and gave him shelter and his time.
All I remember is looking into his glistening grey eyes and him charismatically speaking with a toothless smile. I thought about how it feels to seem invisible, to not be heard, to be passed by. He wanted to talk, and even though I couldn’t understand, I wanted to listen. I wanted him to be heard and feel loved.
I sat next to him with my hand on his back (in fear that he might fall back and hit his head on the concrete wall) and looked at him with a smile as he looked into all of our eyes and went on and on about who knows what.
After awhile we were led to the decision to leave and get ice cream or to continue our time with Antonio. He kept talking about his house so we decided to lift him up on his feet and take him home instead of leaving him on the sidewalk.
With one hand Antonio held my hand so tight that my fingers turned purple and with the other hand he pointed the way to his house. The people of San Ray helped us with directions as well.
Antonio continued to say something about music and English, he laughed at the jokes he was cracking, and he never stopped making eye contact with us.
He gave us the keys as we approached his red concrete house. We unlocked the warped metal door and helped lead him inside.
I watched the dusty light fill this tiny blue room as he open a wooden window and invited us inside. After a hesitation we all followed him in. It was a small blue room with a blue chess, a wooden vanity holding bottles, a bed, and a wall full of pictures of a woman, boy and Jesus Christ.
The room was cute, simple and kind of sorrowful. The room had a story and it wanted to be heard, just like Antonio.
He lead us to the wooden vanity and took out a book of sheet music with English titles and handed it to me with a smile. (That’s what he was talking about on the street). He pointed to the wall and showed us a picture of him when was younger playing guitar with people around him. It turns out Antonio has a life long passion for music.
He then pointed to the photos of the lady and young boy and started weeping. He explained that they were his wife and son whom had passed away eight years ago.
Antonio was still being held up by the boys so we led him to his bed to sit down. With glistening eyes he told us about his music and smiled, he talked about his life and laughed, he talked about his family and wept. He didn’t let us leave without a giant hug goodbye.
We stood before a man with a story. We heard about his passions and the joys and pains of his life. If we didn’t give him our time and our ears we would’ve never been blessed to know his life. We wouldn’t have been able to pray for him. We prayed with him that alcohol would not have a grip on his life, that he would not feel grief about his family but he’ll find joy in the Lord. (and I ask for prayer from you).
It’s so easy to pass by people and think someone else can help. It’s also tempting to do the bare minimum task and leave it at that. Sometimes we forget to look past the surface and remember everyone has a story. But when you take a moment to help and take the time to listen your whole perspective and heart changes for the people around you.
