Yesterday at noon, I was driving to pick my son up from somewhere. As I drove through an intersection in our neighborhood, I noticed a bicycle on a sidewalk and a man laying in the grass behind some bushes. It looked like he was trying to sit up but couldn't.
That's odd, I thought. Did he stop his bike ride to lay on the grass on a nice summer's day, staring up at the clouds? A "stop and smell the roses" kind of thing? Is he having a heart attack?
I couldn't get it out of my mind, and so I turned around. I simply had to see what was going on, in case there was some sort of emergency.
"Sir, are you okay? Are you okay, sir?" I called.
He didn't move at first. No response at all.
Oh dear, what if he's dead!?!, I thought.
Slowly, he began to move, and he rolled over to his back.
"No, I'm just drunk. I've been drinking this morning," he slurred, laughing to himself.
"I can see that," I said. "Do you live around here?"
"Over there somewhere," he said, as he swung his arm in a wide arc to the left. "I was going to ride my bike home."
This man couldn't even stand up. There was no way he could ride his bike home on the neighborhood streets without causing some sort of accident. I could see his backpack lying on the ground, covered in sweat. And the armpits of his shirt were drenched with sweat too. It obviously took him a lot of effort and time to get to where he was now - lying on the ground, half in the bushes, in a stranger's yard next to an intersection in town.
"No, don't ride home right now," I said. "Just lay there for awhile and rest it off first. Are you gonna be okay? I have to leave to pick up my son. But don't get up for awhile okay, just lay there till you feel better."
I was already almost late to pick up my son, so I decided I had no choice but the leave him there. I would be passing him again about 15 minutes later after getting my son, and if he was still there, I decided I would call the cops to go check on him (which I ended up doing, because I would feel horrible if I did nothing and then heard about some accident later).
But as I was getting back in my car, he suddenly sat straight up and looked right at me, and said one of the saddest things I've heard in a while: "Do you know what it's like to be alone?"
It broke my heart. Really truly. I had no words. I don't know what it's like to be alone like that, to be so alone that you would drink yourself nearly unconscious so early in the day.
My heart broke for him, and I wish I'd had time to sit down by him and listen to his story. But I had to get my son, and if I started any kind of conversation with this man, I would have to abruptly cut him off three minutes into hearing his story so that I could rush out to get my kid. And that would be worse than not starting the conversation at all.
So not knowing what to say, I simply began to mention something about watching my mother try to drink herself to death these last couple months.
He gave an angry yell and a brisk wave-off, basically telling me to get out of here.
And so I left him there, knowing there was nothing I could do except call the police when I got home. (Besides, I, being a barely 5'1" woman, wasn't about to sit down by this large, angry, drunk man to keep him company. No telling how that story might end.)
I thought about this incident all night. I thought about the kind of pain someone has to be in to drink themselves silly like that. I thought about how little we know about what our neighbors are going through, the fears and pain and struggles they hide behind their smiling faces and polite conversation. I thought about my mom trying to drink herself to death, knowing the exceptional pain she is in but being unable to do anything to help. I thought about how incredibly lonely someone must be to use their one moment of lucidness while talking to a stranger to say "Do you know what it's like to be alone?"
Oh my goodness, I want to cry.
As I thought about it later, I realized that if I could go back and say anything different to him, it would be this: "I might not know what it's like to be alone like that, but I do know what it's like to be broken. There's still hope for you in Jesus. And I'll be praying for you."
Oh, for the chance to go back and say it right. (Not that he would remember it.)
But I did pray for him at least. Which is probably better than any words I could offer, because God can do far more than I could have!
I wonder ... If we all were a little more honest with others about our brokenness, letting people into our worlds and entering into theirs, maybe people wouldn't feel so alone. (See "Broken" and "A Defining Moment" and "Where I'm Coming From.")
I know what it's like to be broken. And I know that brokenness doesn't have the last word.
Because God is in the business of fixing broken things!
