Lost, But Not Alone...

 

JULIE

Chapter One

 

I met Jacob in the spring of 2009.  He was sitting on a curb, hugging himself, rocking back and forth and crying.  He was dressed in dirty, ragged jeans, an old sweatshirt and a thin jacket that looked to be two sizes too big and barely adequate to keep out the spring chill.  His face was dirty and he wore a few days growth of peach fuzz on his chin.  I guessed his age to be maybe 17 or 18 and a long way from home.

 

I don't usually pay much attention to these lost, homeless street urchins.  My usual action is to just pass them by and mutter something like poor soul to myself.  But this young boy was different.  I had a strange feeling that I needed to stop.  I looked at him with a strong feeling of compassion, took a few steps to the curb and sat down beside him.

 

"Hi, my name is Julie," I said.  I felt a little strange, but thought that might be a good opener.

 

Nothing!  Silence!

 

All he could do was continue as before, rocking and sobbing.  His head was bowed down with his chin nearly touching his chest.  My heart was breaking.  I wanted to put my arms around him and hug him tight, but I resisted.

 

"I just noticed you sitting here and you looked cold and maybe hungry.  Are you hungry?"  I tried again to get a response.

 

Still he was silent.  I decided to look away and give him some time.  I sat there with him, keeping my thoughts to myself, and wondered if maybe I was wasting my time.  The moments ticked by slowly.  Who was this boy?  Where did he come from?  What was his story?  Everyone has a story.  Even I have a story.

 

After several minutes, he spoke.  "Jacob.  My name is Jacob."

 

I looked at him and smiled.  "Well, Jacob, are you hungry?  There's a little diner around the corner.  I'd be happy to buy you something to eat.  I'm pretty hungry myself," I offered.

 

Again, he was silent.  However, this time I could feel something in the silence.  It was speaking volumes of loneliness to me and I knew I could not just give up and abandon this boy.

 

"Why would you offer to feed a total stranger?" he asked.  "I'm just a worthless piece of trash waiting for the garbage truck to pick me up and deposit me in the dump."  His depression was thick as syrup and finally had a voice.  My heart responded, and I continued to reach out.

 

"Let's just say I don't see garbage sitting here.  I see a young boy who has probably lost his way and could use a friend to help him find it."

 

Another long silence--punctuated by less rocking.  I asked myself, what is it with this boy?  I could feel his thoughts.  Is that possible?  He wasn't crying any more.  This boy is a processor, I decided.  He just needs time.  And so I sat there on the curb giving him all the time he needed.

 

With both of us deep in thought, I began to reflect on how many kids I've seen on the streets lately.  They just seem to be multiplying, as though it is a whole new culture springing up.  I don't know, maybe this kid isn't one of them.  Maybe he's just dirty because he chooses to be and just had a major blow-out with his dad.  I do know though, that right now something made me stop and this poor soul is hungry.  The one obvious thing here and now is that here is a kid who feels worthless.  No child should feel worthless. 

 

My thoughts then turned to something that my good friend, Kate said to me the other day.  She was all upset about her sister's 15-year-old son who had just up and walked out the front door and hasn't been heard from since.  I wondered if I felt impressed to stop because of that.

 

The word Prodigal came to mind, as I recalled the parable as recorded in Luke, Chapter 15.  I tried comparing today's runaway children with the son who took all the riches his father bestowed upon him and went out into the world.  He was extravagant and wasted all he was given and in the end was penniless and destitute.

 

Unlike the repentant son of the parable, today's prodigals don't leave their homes with riches to squander.  The only riches they have are their future potentials.  Today's prodigals squander their potential by making their homes under bridges, on our city streets or hidden away in desolate places far from home.  They leave home for a variety of reasons.  Perhaps the number one reason is abuse, either physical or emotional from one parent or both or even some other family member.  Or they leave because they feel misunderstood, misjudged or neglected.  Their self-worth, as this young boys', is in the basement.

 

More and more kids are leaving home because of peer pressure, getting involved with drugs or alcohol, or problems including failure at school.  Whatever the reason, the numbers are astounding.  I read an article in Kids Health that there are somewhere between "one million and three million runaway and homeless kids living on the streets in the United States."  That number is astounding to me.

 

"Ma'am?  Julie?"  Jacob's voice broke through my thoughts, and I turned to face him.

 

"Uh, yes, what is it Jacob?"

 

"I think I would like something to eat, if you're still offering."  He barely spoke above a whisper, but I was delighted to hear his words.

 

"Of course I am.  Let's get up from here and go find you and me a meal."  It would be good to get off this curb and in a standing position again.  My backside was beginning to feel numb.

 

We stood and walked to the end of the block, turned left and walked another half block or so to Alice's Place, a local diner that served pretty good food.

 

"You like hamburgers?" I asked.

 

"Yeah," was his one-word reply.

 

"Alice probably makes the best hamburger on the planet," I said, as I held open the door and we went inside.

 

We sat in a booth, facing each other.  The waitress took our orders and I turned back to Jacob.

 

"Where are you from, Jacob?" I asked.

 

He didn't answer my question, but responded with a question of his own.

 

"Why did you stop to talk to me?  No one does that."

 

I thought a minute before I replied.  "I'm not sure, really.  I just saw you sitting there and something inside me nudged me to stop.  Are you sorry that I did?"

 

"No, I was just wondering," he said.  For the first time, he raised his eyes to look at me and I could feel him struggling to find words.  "Do you know what I was thinking when you stopped?  I was trying to think of some way to kill myself.  And then I started thinking about my mom.  That's when I started losing it...and then you stopped.  Are you an angel?"

 

I had to smile at that observation.  "No, Jacob, I'm not an angel, but sometimes God sends people to act as angels for Him.  Maybe He sent me, I don't know."

 

The waitress brought our burgers and Jacob attacked his ravenously.  I wondered when was the last time this kid had anything to eat.

 

I asked him again where he was from.  I still didn't get a reply, but the tension that clouded his face, his downcast eyes, and his clenched jaw told me I better not push it right now.  I decided to change the subject.

 

"I'm pretty new to this area.  My daughter and I moved here from California," I told him.  "We had to leave a lot of memories behind.  I was pretty lucky because I found a job right away."

 

It was pretty much a one sided conversation for several minutes, me offering bits and pieces of my life, and Jacob consuming his hamburger, fries and Coke.  When he finished, he looked around and started to get up.

 

"Would you like anything else?  A milk shake?  A piece of pie?"  I didn't want him to just leave.  I had so many questions and hadn't found the right way to break through yet.

 

"No, I really should be going," he quietly informed me.

 

I really didn't feel like I could push him anymore.  "Is there anything you need, Jacob?"

 

"No, I'll be fine," he said.

 

"Not even a place to sleep?" I asked.

 

"No.  You've done enough already.  I really don't know what to say.  No one has ever been this nice to me.  I won't forget it."  Now he was standing.

 

I scooted out of the booth and stood next to him.  I reached in my purse and pulled out a $20 bill and one of my business cards.  I reached for his hand and put the money and my card in it and wrapped his fingers around them.  "Take this, Jacob.  And if ever you change your mind, call me.  My cell number is probably the best one to reach me."

 

He didn't say anything, just looked down at his hand, shoved its contents into his pocket and looked at me.  Then he turned and walked toward the door.  When he reached it, he turned around and said, "Thank you."

 

That was it.  He went through the door and walked down the street, out of sight.  I wanted to cry.  My heart felt like it had just been ripped to shreds.

 

I picked up the check and walked to the cashier to pay.

 

"Where did you find that riff-raff?" the cashier asked me.

 

I looked her straight in the eye and said, "That young boy is no different than you or me.  He's just been dealt a different playing hand and right now he doesn't have a clue what to do with the cards he's holding.  He's lost, alone and just needed a friend, a meal and maybe a small helping hand."

 

She took my money and just shook her head.