Sign-holder Conundrum

Not long ago, I drove by a woman and her children as they sat on the curb at Walmart. At first I wondered if they were doing some kind of homeschool project. They were fairly well dressed and the school-aged kids were hunched over some sort of writing project. As I sat in line waiting to turn, they finished up what they were working on--a sign requesting money. There they sat, in the middle of the day, holding up their sign. I made my turn and went on my way, but I found myself getting angry. Why weren't the kids in school? What were they learning from their mom by sitting on a street corner, begging for money? I know there are resources available to her and her children. Why does she choose this instead of getting some real, lasting help?

It was much later before that ubiquitous "WWJD" thought popped into my mind. I won't presume to know what Jesus would have done, but I'm fairly certain He wouldn't have ignored this family and walked away angry.

Could it be that America is the very worst place to be poor? For the most part, our poor are not sequestered in small villages down dusty roads no one ever travels. Is there any place where the poor mingle so closely with the rich and who beg among those who so firmly believe in the "land of opportunity"? Does judgment come so quickly anywhere else?

How to respond to the poor in America occupies a lot of my brain space. Sending money for children in India and Guatemala and Ethiopia? That's a no-brainer. Helping needy families at Christmas or volunteering at the Salvation Army food bank? Yes, got it. Looking out for the outsiders, poor or otherwise, in my own day-to-day circles? Yes! But what to do with those people who hold up signs on street corners? How can I know their stories in the six seconds I stare at them at the stop light?

For a while, our family kept "homeless bags" in our car. We filled Ziplocs with Bandaids, Chapstick, shampoo, tissues, mini toothbrushes, granola bars, nuts, and bottled water. We made them with enthusiasm; they were received with much less of it. We generally got a weak "thank you," but no one seemed as excited about our bags as we were. One young man stationed outside a Target told us, "Oh, no thanks. I've got all that stuff at home." HUH? Eventually we began breaking into the bags ourselves when one of the kids had a messy sneeze. And was it even safe to hand out water that had been in the car for three months? Eventually the lackluster response and pilfered bags snuffed our enthusiasm right out.

One time we saw a man with a sign that said, "Dreaming of a cheeseburger." I can't eliminate poverty in my city, and I don't know what to teach my kids about any of this, but this simple thing I can do, I thought. This could be a beautiful "God moment" where the kids learn about seeing a need and meeting it in a very practical way. The only problem was that we were about ten minutes away from the nearest cheeseburger. I drove frantically, telling the kids to pray. We drove through the closest McDonald's and bought not just a Big Mac, but fries and a drink, too. If we're gonna do this, let's go big! I don't even think the kids asked for anything for themselves. This was every mother's teaching-moment dream. Except that it didn't pan out. We drove for a half-hour looking for the man with the sign, but he had moved on, taking his cheeseburger dreams elsewhere. I thought surely God would put someone else in our path, someone who needed our thoughtful grease even more. I drove and drove but never found anyone. My husband ate the Big Mac and my kids shared the fries and Coke. While I believe that every moment is a "God moment," they don't always play out the way I think they will.

What do we do with the poor in America? I don't mean the government or the local charities. I mean the moms in minivans, because we're the church, right? What do we do? If we're not supposed to give them money because they might drink it away, and we're not supposed to load them up in our cars and take them for a meal because they might stab us all, if we're sitting at a stop light sandwiched between eight other cars and running late to a soccer game without the time or ability to sit down and hear their story, what are we to do? What on earth would Jesus do if He were the one driving the mini van full of kids? I would love to hear your thoughts on this.

I wish this was one of those times when I could throw out some scripture and bring a nice, tidy ending to my blog. I know what the scriptures say. Widows and orphans. Prisoners and the hungry. Caring for the least among us. Yes, Lord, and if I were in India, I think it would be pretty easy to figure out what that looks like. But I'm here. The poor I've spent time with here have cell phones and food stamps. Some of them have big-screen TVs. And though it may be the exception, some even have all the tissues and Bandaids they need at home. What do I do here? What does it look like to live out your commands with the sign-holders on the street?

My wrestling keeps me praying and asking. And that, I'm positive, pleases Him.