It's for Everyone - Linde

Linde and her son weren’t even supposed to be on the streets that day. She had tennis and her ten-year-old son Gus was home from school. But she felt it on her heart — that quiet nudge that's hard to explain and harder to ignore. So she went. Her prayer that morning was simple: Lord, let me see.

Our Thursday Streets Time group was on their normal route near the Stewpot and our Director of Advocacy, Alyssa, had stopped to talk with a woman named Leslie* sitting on a bench with her son, Andrew*.  Leslie had been doing everything right—until her car broke down. That was the moment she hit a wall in terms of not having the resources to provide for her and her son. Now she and Andrew were here. On the streets.

They talked for a while, and Alyssa sensed the despair in Leslie’s voice. So she did something simple but powerful—she put her hand on Leslie's shoulder and said, "You're a good mom."

Leslie shook her head. "I don't feel like it."

Linde knelt down and looked her in the eye, "No mama gets it right all the time. I know how you feel…I  feel like a failure, too” She meant it. She was carrying her own quiet grief about Gus and school—a valley she hadn't shared with anyone. She wasn't performing compassion, she was just sharing the truth in her heart.

All the while, the boys had started playing a game together. They had learned that they both liked math and were both 10-years old. While they connected, the moms kept talking. At one point, Linde asked Leslie: "What's the greatest gift you think you can give your son?"

Without hesitating, Leslie said: "Education." Andrew hadn't been to school in three weeks. She couldn't get him enrolled. It was the thing she wanted most for him, but felt she was failing to give.

Linde looked at her. "The greatest gift you can give your son is love. And you can give it anywhere, anytime — whether or not he's in school, whether he's with you or apart from you."

What Leslie didn't know is that God had been speaking something over Linde for a while—I love you—and she'd been brushing it off. Why do you keep saying that? I already know. That's not helpful. But in that moment, speaking love over a woman who had forgotten she deserved it, she understood. He wasn't telling her something new. He was giving her something she could give away…filling up her cup so that she could fill someone else’s.

Before they left, Leslie turned to Andrew and asked him directly: "Who are you?" He didn't answer at first. She asked again. He looked up and said, "I'm Andrew." She said, "That's right." Linde looked over at Gus. He was already looking back at her. “Who are you?” was a question that she had been asking him for years, so in that moment she asked him again. He immediately answered with what he knew to be true: “I’m a mighty man of God.” The boys had different answers, but their moms were asking for the same reasons—to remind their sons of their worth and for Linde especially, reminding Gus that his identity was in God alone.

Two moms. Two boys—same age. A bench on the street. Being asked the same question on the same morning.

This is what we mean when we say this work is for everyone. Not as a program. As a place where the dividing lines between housed and unhoused, between "fine" and "falling apart," turn out to be far thinner than we thought.

Linde didn't go to the streets to fix anything. She went to see. And she did—more than she expected. She saw a mom trying to hold her son's world together with what little she had. She saw her own reflection in that. She saw God saying the same thing to both of them.

She's still sitting with it weeks later. Remembering Andrew, his shoes that were too small, and his mom who felt like she was failing. There's no way for her to “fix” that. And maybe that's the point. Some things can't be fixed—but they can be witnessed and met with presence and love. And that is how bridges are built and community is created.

Whether they realize it or not, everyone who steps onto the streets with us comes with something they're carrying, and they leave seeing and being seen in ways they never expected. Everyone is invited into something that turns out to be for them, too.

*Names changed for privacy