Gary

People feel. People hurt. I've narrowed it down to people's eyes. It's been said that people's eyes are the windows into their souls. I couldn't agree more. I looked through these very sorts of windows yesterday. The man's name, as I know it to be, was simply Gary. I really first noticed him as I was talking to another man in the kitchen of The Mission. The Mission is a shelter for the homeless and a house of recovery for addicts. As I was talking with this man, Gary walked in. He didn't say anything to me. He didn't have to. It was his glance that did the talking. I can't even describe how I knew. It was the kind of glance that said, please come talk to me. I need someone. I need genuine human interaction. He wouldn't come right to me and say that but he unconsciously did. So from there I picked myself up and walked a few yards over to his table and sat myself down. Gary was real. Mid to late 50's. His face was warm. Eyes narrow as if sun were pouring into the room. I clearly remember his eyes. Windows. His smile was sincere. His teeth like crowded dominoes stuck in black tar. Gary was real. It seemed like he was never given a lot. Right when I sat down he pointed my attention to the book he was reading. One of the counselors had lent it to him. He spoke slow and fragmented. A result due to substance and alcohol abuse. When he spoke you could tell he was frustrated. His mind was perfectly able to assemble exactly what he wanted to communicate, but his lips were unable to. It didn't matter. I loved talking to him. I asked why he turned to alcohol and drugs. It was one of those questions that you are unsure you should ask but after thinking it through, do. Upon hearing it he winced. You could tell he needed to answer. That he would receive healing upon being honest and releasing something that was undoubtedly haunting him for a long time. He spoke of his brother. As he said the word brother I saw through those windows. It was beginning to rain. The thick streaky fog appearing on those windows. It was that word and that word alone that told his story. A story of deep sorrow. Love turned to nothing. Abandonment. All clearly articulated by one seemingly simple word. Brother. From that point it didn't matter what else was said. He gained what he needed. From giving me that first glance he told me what he needed and he got it. I didn't have to say much. I did say I would be praying for him. He knew he needed to move on and he uttered that he was in the beginning stages of healing. He knew that the road to healing took its first steps with honesty. He was honest. Painfully honest. All I could say to him was, turn to God. Upon which he difficulty and confidently replied... I will.