Homeless, Drugs, Jesus, and the Police
What a strange morning. I’ve been trying to ride my bike more often, so I struck out on it this morning to explore my neighborhood, Hyde Park. Within the first two blocks, there was a guy who appeared to be homeless and way down on his luck just lying half-way in the street like he was dead. It was on 38 1/2 and Avenue B next to a dumpster.
I was just rolling along and trying to decide - a) is he a bum who just got drunk and wouldn’t take help from anyone even if they offered it, b) is he dead, c) is he faking it, d) is he dead, e) is he about to mug someone, f) is he dead - wait a minute! A young girl was walking the other way toward him. As I was riding about two blocks further I was struck by guilt. Here I am wondering if a guy lying in the street is dead or not and now a young girl is about to walk by him too. I didn’t have a cell phone, but maybe she would and we could help him together.
Ha. As I rode back around, there she was - talking with him and he was standing. She was asking if he needed help and he was thanking her, saying no, and walking off. Wow, I’m an idiot. I ride within 5 feet of someone who looks dead and just keep riding and then a girl half my age has to demonstrate to me what loving my neighbor and being obedient and trusting Christ looks like. That’s just the beginning.
I rode all over the neighborhood - and there were probably dozens of stories to write based on everything else I saw, but this one still tops the list. As I was coming back home, I rode down 38 1/2 again. There he was, slumped over behind a car about to be passed out on his face. This time he was holding two pill bottles.
At least this time I wasn’t going to just ride on and ignore it. I took 2 minutes to go back home and grab my cell phone. When I got back, he was standing again. Hmmm.. So I rode around a little more slipping into private investigator mode. When I came around the block again, this time out of sight, he was hunched over on the ground holding a pill bottle up to his face as if he was trying to read the label.
He got up about when I got to him. And in a very plain (and not drug induced) voice, he asked if I’d seen his prescription bottle in the street. I quizzed him about it. What was the prescription? After a pause, he said, “Ziapan”. I asked what it was for. He said he just had a seizure and needs it to recover. The other two bottles of meds in his hands must have been something else. His hands were very deformed - fingers that were shorter than his thumb. I asked what type of seizure. He paused and said, “Epilepsy”. Okay. That all sounded a little feasible, so I thought I’d try to help. I asked if maybe it was in the place where he was last lying in the street. He said he thought he was mainly on this street, so I rode up and down it looking for his meds.
I found two new pairs of sunglasses where he was lying next to a dumpster previously, so I brought those back to him. He said they were his. Hmmm. He explained how he will just start seeing a bright light, then the next thing he knows someone is waking him up in a strange place - and typically he has been robbed. He said it was really bad when he used to work in Mexico (and he was a white, red haired, 35 to 40 year old). I wished him luck since it seemed like he was over the seizure and on his way to a typical Sunday.
I circled around a few times just to see where he would go. He stayed put and just went to the curb again. Something sure seemed fishy. I felt like he was potentially pretending to be hurt so that people would approach him, and if no one was around and it was the right person with something obvious to steal (like a purse over the shoulder), he would mug them. I’ve met some pretty desperate people addicted to drugs who would stop at nothing to be able to get their next fix. I sat on my bike on the corner of Speedway and 38 1/2 watching all of the people come and go from Hyde Park Baptist Church where I could also keep my eye on him.
I was struggling with what to do. Part of me wanted to be all like Jesus and go help him and feed him and heal him and see him live happily ever after. Part of me wanted to call 911. A big part of me wanted to just go home and forget about it.
So sitting there, and admitting I’m a total idiot, I started to pray. Maybe God would give me some sort of guidance. Then it hit me. Call 911. I was thinking of the police in terms of ruining the guy’s day. Maybe he was struggling with epilepsy and having them come throw him in jail would just make things worse. But no. It became very clear to me that the people at 911 are there and specially trained just for these types of situations. They have the experience to know immediately if he is having an epileptic seizure or not. They also have the experience to know if he is scamming everyone and about to mug them - or taking every drug he can find to kill himself. Either way, they know what to do and they have the resources to do it.
I realized that calling on specialists to help with a situation is sometimes better than trying to handle it myself. The main point is doing something about it and not just riding by and ignoring it. Now I can rest easier knowing that either he is getting the medical help he needed or no one is getting mugged by him this morning or both.
I can’t wait to see what the rest of the day brings.
