"Actions Speak Louder than Words"

The other day, my daughter and I did something we've been doing for years as a family. We took a large donation of clothing to an inner city church, who's mission is to provide for the homeless and less fortunate among us. I never have to 'make' my children come with me for this errand. They both have good hearts. They are not afraid, or turned off, by the homeless. They are saddened, and wish for a solution.

When we arrived at the church, Heidi in tow, there were three women huddled together out front, shuffling their feet in an effort to stay warm. It was a bitterly cold day. Before I even had the vehicle turned off, my daughter was out the door, round to the back, and lifting out our bags of clothing. Then, bringing a smile to my face, she didn't rush off to the donation door... she went right up to the ladies and started chatting.
That's my girl!
Heidi and I joined in, and fifteen minutes passed in that cold wind. Only when Heidi started doing the "my paws are freezing dance', did we break up and go about our mission of delivering the clothes. When we got back into our warm, comfortable vehicle... I saw a look in my daughter's eyes, and without words, she was telling me she knows how fortunate she is. Priceless.

We have a favorite pizza place in the city, located on a very busy street, frequented by people from all walks of life. It is also a  popular site for panhandling. Many view this as a nuisance, and I get it. But I see it as a lost soul's act of total desperation, begging for help to survive the next day, the next hour, or even the next minute. I don't judge or shake my head. I don't blame them for how they got 'here'. I am just saddened.
So, whenever we stroll this avenue and stop at our pizza place, we buy a few extra slices and quietly pass them out. The smiles and 'thanks' are genuine, the last little bit of pride evident as they wait to eat until we are almost out of sight. My children know they've done something good that requires no praise in return.

As a parent, you try to instill so many things in your children's hearts and minds, as you raise them to become loving and responsible individuals. A few years ago, my son unknowingly showed me that whatever my husband and I were doing, was working. It was another very cold winter night, around -35 degrees, and I was at a rink watching him play hockey. In between one of the periods, I, along with most of the other parents, visited the canteen to get a warm drink. A rattling noise caught my attention, and I turned to see a homeless gentleman giving a shake to one of the vending machines, muttering under his breath. A rink attendant approached him, they spoke briefly, and then ... nothing. The gentleman had lost his change in the machine, the attendant was unable to retrieve it. In his layers and layers of threadbare clothes, the gentleman went and stood by the door, where I noticed his bike for the first time. It was adorned with a small backpack and an odd assortment of knick-knacks. He just stood there, staring out into the freezing night. Garnering only glances of disgust from the other parents, I was spellbound. So over I went, with a few looks of utter disbelief from the parental crowd, introduced myself, and offered to buy this man a hot drink and something to eat. It turned out to be one of the most moving things I ever did. He graciously accepted a cup of tea and a hotdog. While I stood in line to order, he made a trip back to his backpack. He picked the farthest away table so as not to 'disturb' the others, he told me when I sat down next to him. Before I could even put his drink in front of him, he offered up a tattered, well worn, soft covered book, swollen twice it's size from dampness, and said, "I can't repay you, so I'd be honored if you took my book." It was a copy of War and Peace, and he had carried it with him for years. With tears welling in my eyes, I said I couldn't possibly take something so treasured, that just his generous thought was more than enough thanks. We chatted for a few minutes, he finished his wee meal, and our encounter drew to a close. He asked me which number my son was, saying he would watch through the glass and cheer for his team. I had just been blessed with twenty minutes of a most amazing experience.

When the game was over, and I headed out into the 'abyss of frigid night' to start our vehicle, I did not see my gentleman, but his bike was still propped up against the wall.
As I sat in the truck, waiting to see my son standing in the door, I bowed my head and said a silent prayer for 'Mr. War and Peace". When I looked up again, I saw my boy standing just inside the entrance to the arena. He was talking to someone. I thought probably a team mate or his coach. I drove around to pick him up. After unloading his gear in the back, he hopped in front with me and said, "I just had the coolest conversation with an old dude. Really neat. He said to 'say hello, and thanks again' to my Mom. What's up with that?" Out of all the players leaving the rink that night, my son took the time to stop and talk with the homeless gentleman. And my gentleman quickly figured out which tree this apple had fallen from. The cold night no longer bothered me, for my heart was warmed by my son's selfless act of kindness.

Actions do speak louder than words. We can not just 'say', we must also 'do'.
My husband and I have probably made tons of mistakes as parents. But we keep on, and when we least expect it, our children show us, by their actions, that the good is getting through, and the not-so-good is forgiven. They have shown us time and again what good people they are, and that the little things we do make a hugh difference for someone in need.

A long entry today, but such an important one. I can't imagine being homeless. The fear and loneliness. The hunger and pain. The sadness and sorrow. It is a problem much bigger than one person can handle. But one person can make a difference. A kind word, a cup of coffee, a donation of warm clothing, a cheque to a food bank, giving blankets to a shelter, or volunteering at a soup kitchen. Simple. Joyful. Wonderful.

Thank you to my children, for inspiring my story telling today.
Thank you to the three ladies, and Leo Tolstoy's devoted fan (my dear homeless friend), for inspiring my children.
If you are moved by my stories, please keep them in your heart, and let them move you to action.




Keep on keeping on... bArB :)