Lend a Hand

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Rated E
Lend a Little Love
by: bediane1954

Once on a day coming closer to the alluring day of Christmas, my children and I were driving home after a very exhausting day of shopping for the upcoming holidays. Dirty Santa's letter for the gift this year was “G” and the only thing I could think of purchasing would be a stuffed goat! Even though this season was going to be a hard one I thought the least I could do is get us the best “G” gifts we could come up with; Water Globes, gloves, I even thought of gifts. My husband was unemployed and we were not going to have much money. That did not keep those annoying little sugar plums from dancing in my children's head nor the endless supply of Santa's elves at the malls.

The children had been told by friends about a homeless man living up under a bridge that particular Christmas season. He was living by the Warrior River at Christmas time, very cold and close to the water. His shade was the overpass above him and his radio was the traffic that did not cease this time of year. The river had a reputation of enormous Catfish, snakes, and dead things abiding in the bottom of the river. That does not take into account the many automobiles and garbage that have been throwed in the river in past decades.

Living in a small neighborhood like Union Chapel on Buttermilk Road you can hear all kinds of tales while you were out and about. Southerners have always been known for their great storytelling. All kind of vivid tales came from the community some scary; mostly heartbreaking. One story that saddened my heart was that he had lost his wife last Christmas and couldn't shake her memory. He just retired in the woods leaving life behind until their meeting in the after life. The homeless man cared nothing of the material things of the world. My guess was that since he had lost his wife at such a young age that he knew the material things really did not matter. My husband said he had witness(ed) the homeless man one morning while he was on the banks of the river looking for Indian arrowheads or points. As the days kept rumbling by I found the story about the homeless man very hard to believe. Chitchat has it that the water is ice cold and so very black you can't see your hand when you place it under the water.

At the valley of our road was the barren man. He had bedraggled gray clothes that resembled some kind of uniform like you would wear repairing cars. He hadn't shaved in what looked like years. In some way he looked so old and beaten down that he kind of resembled a soldier from the Civil War era. He was picking up aluminum cans when we spotted him. We all were in agreement that he was doing a great service by recycling aluminum cans. We were known to do the sell our cans at times to go to McDonalds for a treat.

His backpack was big and looked to be a green army duffel bag and it carried all the possessions he had in this world. It appeared to be so heavy it pulled him to the ground. The children were a little scared to stop because of the stories they had heard.

Chris said, "Look Mom! There's the man that lives under the bridge that everyone is talking about. He looks sad, Mom. Do you think he's hungry?

Kim looked at me with sorrow in her little eyes, "Mom, can we stop and give him some of our change? Just this once. I don't think he's mean, just real sad."

"Of course, we can. Just look around the car for some change and I'll check my purse."

I stopped the car. The children and I probably found about five dollars and some odd change to give to the solitary man. I rolled my window down and said, "Here's some money to help you, sir. I know it isn't much but it will help a little. Merry Christmas."

He had a hoarse voice and almost in a mumble said, "No one has ever stopped and offered him anything. I really feel bad about taking your money, mame."

I looked closer and saw his bright blue eyes and a salty tear rolled down his cheek. He turned but it was too late he had brought his gray coat to his eyes to wipe away the tear making its way down to his lips.

He took the money and looked at the children and said, "Ya'll are very special children to do this. I thank you and your mama. I used to have children like you and a beautiful wife like your mama. I lost them last Christmas eve. They were on their way to get a Christmas tree and was in a car accident. I miss them so."

As we left to go up the hill the children said, "Mom, why did that man cry? Was he sad because he doesn't have his wife and kids anymore?"

I replied, "Children, we could have just seen Jesus or one of his angels and we did the right thing. He was a proud person one who probably has not always been in that kind of shape and he did not want to take the money.”

Christmas isn't about receiving but giving. My children are grown now and they have never forgotten the experience and even when they aren't so good they still have a kind and loving heart. This is the one thing that I am proud that I instilled in them to carry theirs hearts and wear it on their shoulders. This all of us should do not just during the Christmas season but throughout the year.