During our Bible study (which happened to be on the Beatitudes) a woman walked up to us and began recounting to us a long, long story of her life. She said her name was Charice, and she was somewhat homeless (apparently she is living somewhere for $15 or $30 a week).
I had never been approached before by a homeless person with such an intricate story. Usually it's a quick "Do you have any change?" or "I need some money for a sandwich." Charice seemed to have more and more to tell as she went along. I don't think she actually asked for money until maybe 45 minutes later.
Our pastor was there, and he offered her more than money: he offered her a way to reclaim her life. He has the ability to get her a job, a place to stay, etc. Unfortunately, she rejected that, bringing up some reasons why she just needed money (that's how we found out about staying at the place for $15-$30). She ended up leaving us, and I just felt awkward afterwards.
At first, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, but when she signaled a passerby to corroborate her story twice and he just continued walking, I knew something was up. Later, some of the other guys that were there in the group who have put in significant amounts of time at the Loop before said they've been approached by her many times before with the same story. Looking back, she did seem to "invent" new lines to her story as we brought up certain things, and the more she did the less the new pieces fit.
We had hardly continued the Bible Study when another woman was walking by and asked if we could get her a sandwich. We're all about that, seeing as that fills needs and can't easily be exchanged for alcohol or other addictive substances. This woman's name was Erica, and she brought over her fiancé Larry. Our pastor ran over to Subway to get both of them some food.
To put it bluntly, Larry and Erica rocked. They really touched my heart, and they were a sharp contrast to Charice. Where Charice was indirect, Larry and Erica were piercing. Larry admitted on his own (we didn't even question him) that he was an alcoholic, and though he was struggling now, he had been sober once for 6 months. They were very interested in what we were doing and actually looked into coming back next Monday and/or coming to our Sunday night worship (which takes place right by Erica's mom's house). They were very no-nonsense people and I would love to see them again, and love to see their needs taken care of. I hope I can help in that regard.
Later, we had been met by another group of friends and some of our original people had gone home, and we were standing around and Charice approached us again. Those of us who had heard her spiel previously kind of backed off into our own little group and murmured. One of the newcomers gave Charice a 20. Whether or not that was right, I just can't say, but I do believe that if she really needed help she would have accepted what we (and probably many others) have offered her earlier.
I came on here to write this because I'm full of such a mixed bag of emotions. It rarely lasts through a night's sleep, too. Below is summary:
Anger. Charice appeared to have concocted a web of lies and ended up ensnaring herself. She used all sorts of deceit (not the least of which included appealing to our hearts) to fund something illegitimate of hers. Anger at the substance which holds her captive.
Pity. Charice is obviously under the control of something, whether it be a substance or something else I cannot say. I have extreme pity for her because she's a prisoner and won't accept help to get the key. Pity for Erica and Larry, who need a lot of help, and whose hearts seem to be really warm but whose situation is far from that.
Confusion. Charice's story threw me into a huge fit of confusion. No doubt, much of her story may have happened at one time or another (or even is happening now). However, we offered her sincere help and wish for everything that she had taken us up on that.
Love. For all 3 of those people we had talked to tonight. Love that wants the best for them no matter what they think they need.
The surreal gradually melts away to the real--the relentless, mundane reality--on the drive home.