FAY ROWE | Author/Speaker

The last few nights I've been reading Bent Hope; a street journal, by Tim Huff.

Warning: This book, which tells stories of his encounters with homeless people on the streets of Toronto and elsewhere over a span of twenty years, should come with a pack of Kleenex.

I cry every night.

Until today I thought I was crying over

• Thomas, who was searching for his sister and cried because he lost his last picture of her and was afraid he wouldn't remember what she looked like; or
• Amy, who felt badly for Tim who clumsily tried to beat off the guys who were urinating on her as she sat on the street; or
• Coreen, who trembled at the name of Jesus, not because of its power but because her father said grace "in the name of Jesus" just hours before he sneaked into her room after midnight every night for ten years; or
• Smoothy, whose pain remained his secret as he jumped a train out of town: or
• Ryan the Bigfoot; or
• Wolf, the unlikely caregiver who "got" Tim when others didn't.

But I wasn't.

This morning I went to the framing store to say I needed to amend my order of yesterday since we had chosen the wrong insert. I had been there two days ago and a young man helped me put together my choices, but I had gone home to think about it (I don't make choices in a hurry). Yesterday when I went back, ready to order, I couldn't find the paper he had given me with the information on it, so a young lady, who was on duty again this morning, had tried to help me put it together again. I didn't feel really comfortable about it, thinking it looked different somehow, but went ahead and ordered.

This morning I found the lost paper and realized my order was wrong. So I went back.

When I told her my problem, the young lady sighed and was almost in tears! I thought it was a rather over-the-top reaction and began to get irritated. Then I realized she was probably having a bad day before I ever got there. I calmed myself down and tried to assure her that it was my fault, not hers, and that I'd appreciate her help in fixing my problem.

She did, and as I left she offered a real smile with her "Have a great day!"

Both our days turned around. Mine did, anyway.

So what have I been crying about as I've been reading Tim's book?

I think I cried, not just about those street people who, as Tim says, we reject without knowing anything about them other than they are on the street when "there is no need, in this day and age in Canada"; I cried for all the lost souls, or at least partially lost souls - minds, wills, and emotions that just can't take it anymore.

I cried for that girl, who couldn't take another person blaming her for something.

I cried for my friend, a former pastor's wife who doesn't go to church anymore because "I love Jesus but his kids are just mean!"

I cried for the many who sit in mega-churches, coming and going, unseen and unknown, because it's easier than having a relationship with a pastor, which they might need to do in a smaller church.

I cried because we need each other but many good people prefer to live detached, either physically or emotionally, because ... well, for many reasons, but the bottom line is it's just too hard to live any other way.

There's lots of bent hope out there. It presents at about the same time as does a worn-out heart.

Truth be told, our hope has been susceptible to being bent ever since we left the garden, and God has always wanted it healed and restored.

How often we read in the gospels about Jesus doing or saying something or other "so that you will have hope." The Old testament prophet talked about him "not bruising a reed." How gentle he is with our hearts and our hope! In fact, remember when Jesus said, "My yoke is easy"? Do you suppose he wanted us to know that being joined to him in relationship won't hurt?

Oh, Jesus! Help the rest of us to be more like you!