Child of God

My nephew, in lieu of a summer job, slings his guitar over his shoulder every morning and heads to Old Town, Virginia where he earns his keep as a street musician. His dad took that photo of him setting up, above. Yesterday, his mother called him as he was headed home on the bus. "Did you make a lot of money today," she asked him. He hesitated, then said, "I did something different today. I'll tell you about it later." 

His mom, my cousin who is like my sister, forgot to follow up until this morning, when she asked her firstborn son how the day before had gone. It turns out this beautiful young man, feeling grateful for all the cash he had earned from playing on the street (and believe me, he does very well with this), decided he wanted to give back. So he left his guitar at home, put sixty dollars in his pocket and took the train into Washington D.C. to a part of town where he had seen many homeless people. And that afternoon he took three homeless men to lunch, one after the other. He sat with each one as they ate and talked with them and listened to their story. One was 57 years old who said he was being watched by the FBI and that Bill Clinton was trying to kill him. Another, in his forties, cried because he hadn't seen his family in years. The third was an addict who hadn't been able to kick the habit. My nephew talked with each of these men about their lives and what they were feeling. After the three lunches he had twelve dollars left so he gave it to an elderly apparently homeless man whom he often sees sitting on a bench near the bus shelter.

His mother was moved to tears. She said, "The next time I am complaining to you because there is a science experiment growing in the bathroom that he hasn't cleaned, please remind me that my son is a very good person." 

The thing that strikes me most powerfully about his giving back was the way he acknowledged each of these men's humanity. He didn't just press a few dollars into their hands and leave. He bought them lunch and then sat and talked with them, and by the very act of spending time with them, asking about their lives, listening to them, he let them know they were valued.

He is 19 years old, this boy. But his soul is as old as the hills.