Homeless man on a cold night leaves me with hard questions

I was watching a football game when Phillip came into a restaurant near my house Saturday night. He spoke to me as he came in, but I was too absorbed in the game to pay much attention. But as this homeless man took a seat at the table next to me — as he typically does — I was struck even more than usual by the contrasts between us.

I just bought a new car Friday and I’m very happy with it. It’s not really a new car. It’s not some luxury model. It’s a Toyota Camry and it’s a couple of years old. But it’s much nicer than the 14-year-old Corolla I’ve been driving for the last six years or so. By comparison, it feels like luxury.

Suddenly, the new car made me painfully conscious of the differences between Phillip and me. It wasn’t that I regretted what I had. I didn’t feel guilty for having nice things. But I was suddenly grateful for the things I had.

I noticed the shoes that Phillip was wearing tonight. They were a pair that he had proudly shown me about six weeks ago. He had gone to visit a church where he sometimes gets help and the preacher had surprised him that day with these shoes.

I had arrived at the restaurant tonight in a nice new car. He had arrived in donated shoes.

Phillip is younger than I am. Not old. Not young. His face is weathered and his skin is the dark brownish red color of a person who’s been exposed to the elements far too often.

I don’t know why he’s homeless. Some of what he’s said has hinted that alcohol might have been part of his problem. A year or so ago, someone helped him get a job in Georgia. For months, he was gone and he was apparently taking care of himself and working at a job. Then he showed up again.

He didn’t want to talk about what had happened, but he implied that he had done well for a few months — until he fell into old habits that pushed him back to homelessness.

As I watched Phillip tonight, I felt ashamed of myself for not being grateful enough for the things I have. I’m prone to constantly thinking that I don’t have enough. I’ve been absorbed lately with my need to make more money to solve more problems in my life — and I rarely think about how beautiful and wonderful my life would be for someone such as Phillip.

I rarely remember that my life really is wonderful and comfortable and happy.

The game I was watching ended and I was ready to leave. Phillip had been quiet for a long time. His head was down on his arm. I didn’t want to bother him, but I didn’t want to leave without telling him goodbye.

“Where do you sleep on nights like this when it’s so cold?” I asked.

He didn’t lift his head. I walked closer to him and spoke again, but he was sound asleep at the table.

I walked outside and got into my nice car. It’s about 40 degrees right now and the temperatures will drop into the 30s in the next few hours. My car’s engine quickly gave me comfortable heat by the time I pulled out of the parking lot.

I drove the two miles to my house in silence. On the darkened streets of my neighborhood, I drove by warm houses with families inside. How long had it been since Phillip had experienced a warm home or a family?

I pulled into my driveway and went inside my own warm and comfortable home. I wondered where Phillip would sleep tonight.

I wondered how a man arrives where he is in life. Bad decisions. Addictions. Bad luck. I thought about how easy it is for the rest of us to ignore such people. And I thought about how easy it would have been for me to end up something like Phillip.

It’s simple for me to say that such a thing couldn’t have happened to me. I’m too smart and talented and industrious. Right? But I doubt a younger Phillip thought this could happen to him, either. And the distance between us makes me oddly uncomfortable.

I don’t regret having a nice car or a warm house or a respectable job. I don’t feel guilty about having the nice things I have. But I do have a lot of questions about people such as Phillip. I have questions about the lack of gratitude I often feel about the blessings I have in my own life. I have questions about why God would have created a world in which such painful outcomes — and worse — are common.

I don’t have any answers to my questions.

I still believe the world is basically good and that life here can be wonderful. I believe we were created by a God who understands far more than I do about pain and suffering. I don’t blame him for the choices we make.

And as trite as it might sound, I believe I have a lot to be thankful for. My life isn’t perfect. Not yet. But it’s still a pretty wonderful life.

I’m thankful to be in a warm home with a dog and three cats, but I’m uncomfortable thinking about where Phillip must be.