The Exchange

Most of us never give much thought to the word “exchange” until we have to return a gift. But what about when it comes to exchanging a connection of love, friendship, brotherhood, or Godliness? It’s not like exchanging glances, land for peace, or shaking hands and exchanging business cards. Sometimes it turns out to be an even swap. I’m talking about an exchange much deeper than all of those, one that is unexpected and catches you off guard: the exchange of compassion, empathy, and fellowship.

I dropped my car off a few days ago to get a price for a new set of tires. Thank God I was bundled up from the frigid cold, wind, and snow that was beginning to intensify. As I approached the busy intersection a few blocks away, my attention to the weather was broken by a man in a wheelchair yelling and cursing from across the street in front of a Dunkin Doughnuts. He was sitting in a wheelchair, having a heated confrontation with another man who drove into the parking lot and soaked him with the ice-cold slush from the road. 

At that moment, I felt one with him and crossed the road without hesitation, trying to drown out the sound of blaring horns and abusive language directed at him. Midway across the street, with one foot missing and a whole lot of cursing, he desperately struggled to keep control of the wheelchair. When I finally reached him, I began to push him across the intersection. When we reached the other side, he asked, “Are you an Angel?” “Do you believe in angels, I replied.” “He said, “At this point in my life, I would certainly like to.” I won’t repeat the words of complete disdain he shouted out about  people all across America who no longer care about others 

I asked him his name and where he was headed. He said his name was Lon and pointed to the Blessed Sacrament church straight ahead. I asked him if he lived in Syracuse. He replied that he was from Michigan and had only been in Syracuse for 5 days. His residence, for now, was the Rescue Mission. I knew then that I needed to find shelter for him, and the church was the perfect place. I went to find a handicap-accessible ramp, where I met a young woman who had dropped off her child and asked if she could help. Without hesitation, Lon said he wanted to go to Walmart to get some dry clothes because the clothes he had on were drenched and all he had. She got his size and drove off. 

A man from the rectory seemed to come out of nowhere and inquired what was happening. After a brief discussion, Lon was sitting in a room in the rectory in front of a space heater with a cup of coffee. The man left the room adjacent to the rectory, and soon after, a woman of slight stature appeared. After explaining Lon’s situation, we agreed that he needed immediate help, so I called 211, which put me on the Onondaga County hotline. I selected the prompt for social services, and following a long discussion with someone, they referred me to another department. Another long, painful discussion went nowhere, so I gave up for a while. Lon and I were left alone, so I spent the time getting to know him better. I explained the circumstances that brought us together; that I had dropped my car off to get a new set of tires, and on my walk back to the salon, he came along. I found him to be a very interesting man who, through many unfortunate circumstances, found himself confined to a wheelchair with one foot removed from the ravages of diabetes. He was without a job, hopeless, angry, and unable to use his expertise as a computer programmer. Essentially, all he wanted was a job at the church to help others. 

Then something happened that I didn’t see coming. He took out a fatigued-looking credit card with a balance of $400 and offered it to help pay for the tires. My heart sank as I looked into his eyes, filled with love, compassion, and sincerity. That was a moment I will never forget. He offered the little money he had in exchange for the love and kindness that I had offered him.

I stayed and talked for another half hour, and although he didn’t have a phone, I left him with my number. My walk to the salon was filled with a deep conversation with our heavenly Father. An hour and a half later, I received a call that my car was ready. I headed straight to Blessed Sacrament, expecting to find Lon waiting for a miracle to happen. He was gone, and the door to the rectory was locked. I knocked a few times, then headed to the altar to pray. The picture at the top of the post was taken as I knelt in prayer. 

On my way out, the young mother returned from Walmart while the woman from the rectory was driving out of the parking lot. In the brief conversation between the three of us, it seemed that he just disappeared. Now, here’s the thing. You can just assume what you want from this encounter and come to some conclusion about the validity of this story, but for now, I hope you see what is happening here. I intend to ride to the Rescue Mission in the next day or two to try and find Lon, and if he’s not there, I will try to find him because good friends are hard to come by. After all, if God has taught me anything, it’s that empathy is a reaction to another person’s pain, but compassion takes it one step further. Some only have one foot to guide them to eternity. 

Have a blessed Sunday, dear friends,