I just met Lofontane. He’s a homeless guy living in Port Huron. I’m not so sure that he’s really homeless, but rather addictively desperate. While I was getting out of the car he kind of took me by surprise. I saw nobody around as I pulled into the parking lot, but as soon as I shut my door he was hollering over my shoulder.
“Hey brother!”
His tone was etched with purpose and I knew he was going to hit me up for something. “Do you gots about four dollars? I only have one and I need about five to gets me some lunch.” His smile was wry but his eyes beaconed my spirit to move because he was hungering for more than food.
“I don’t carry cash with me, Lofontane,” I said, “but I’m headed here into the coffee shop to grab something. Do you want to come in with me and eat?”
He contemplated my offer.
“Well…” he paused for longer before saying, “I gots an appointment. Maybe not today.” And with a look of defeat he started walking off. Since he was headed my direction I picked up a short conversation with him, told him a little about myself and where I’m from. Kansas intrigued him, mainly because of the weather.
And I find it humorous how the spring pushes so much grace through the cracks in the sidewalk. We might be a little slower heralding in summer here in Michigan, but our hearts still echo pleas for spring. It brings joy to my heart that the homeless tend to follow the flowers’ lead… as they emerge from hibernation beneath the dirt, so the feet of the homeless plant themselves on these streets.
It’s nearly the same no matter where you go.
It’s men like Lofontane that give me a lot to think about, even with five minute conversations. It’s saints like Lofontane that embody God’s grace for me.
God bless them.
