The Smell of Poverty

Wednesday evening it was raining cats and dogs. This is the rainy season in Costa Rica. It rains almost every afternoon. Normally, this is a convenient excuse to hunker down and enjoy a quiet evening inside. But on Wednesday evening I had planned to help feed the homeless in downtown San Jose.

The tug of the flesh was palpable: “It’s too wet.” “I might catch cold.” “Maybe the homeless won’t be there because of the rain.” Even “the presidential debate is on TV and I don’t want to miss it.”

I have found that my flesh often battles against me whenever I want to do the right thing. Have you experienced that, too?

In spite of the tug to stay warm and dry, I went out in the rain and served. There were 14 of us from ECF, along with others who are part of a ministry called Esperanza Urbana.

We all carry sandwiches and bottled water. We distribute these to the street dwellers as we walk through downtown San Jose. During the day, the city streets are filled with bustling small businesses and crowds of shoppers.

During the night, the hubbub is replaced with an aching loneliness. What we see are mostly deserted streets dirty with litter and refuse. Here and there are small hovels of precious, but very desperate, human beings.

I had purchased a bright yellow rain suit over a year ago that I had never used. So, I walked the streets looking like the Morton Salt Man. As I walked along, I wondered what the homeless people thought about this odd-looking yellow-suited gringo who was completely dry while many of them were wet and cold.

The most impactful moment for me happened when I came across someone sleeping hunkered underneath an old ratty beach towel. I roused the shrouded figure with a kind word and the weary face of an elderly woman emerged. I offered her a sandwich and a water. She smiled and thanked me as she accepted my humble gifts.

I continued wandering down the street looking for more people under cardboard or flimsy blankets. I glanced back and saw the woman drinking the water I had given her. Her face haunted me as I slipped into my warm, dry and comfortable bed later that night.

I believe that woman was the reason God wanted me to walk the streets in the rain. God wanted me to see and smell poverty, again. I can so easily get caught up in my small little world filled with creature-comforts and pettiness.

As I think back about my experience, I realize that I need to be on those dark and dirty streets for what it does for me…even more than for what the food and water may do for the homeless.

Think about that. When was the last time you were close enough to smell poverty?

 We appreciate you, Steve and Pam