Keep on Trekking

Some days don't go as planned.  And that's not such a bad thing, really.

I knew that today would have a few things that framed it, beginning with the Sunday paper and a long walk with Finn.  I also knew that there was a pretty good chance I'd go to church.  All three were satisfying activities, although they aren't what has made this day...different.

What made this day different took place after I "watched" (read "dozed through") the Nebraska-Notre Dame volleyball game on TV.  In need of a little waking up, I took Finn on another walk, winding our way through the neighborhood and up to Woods Park, where I secretly hoped I wouldn't see Jim the homeless man.

Many of my summer walks included conversations with Jim.  He is a pleasant enough man.  Well spoken and friendly.  Probably battling some mental illness and definitely taking a hit from the weather and trying to make it in a new city.  Two weeks ago, Jim fell off my radar, only to return to the park last Sunday.

While I feel compelled to make connections to Jim when he is awake, I also have felt relief on those days when he isn't there, which is why a part of me took a deep breath this afternoon when I saw him on his bike.

(I never said I was a good person.)

I suppose it goes back to that "human insulation" thingy I talked about yesterday.  Sometimes, I'd just rather not see the things and people that need tending.

Thing is, today, Jim tended to me.

After Finn and I had caught up with him, hearing about his struggles with false accusations, no jobs on the horizon and fears about keeping his bike safe, we walked home.  On that walk home, I decided to put together a few things for Jim to eat and some other stuff for him to chew on, as well.  Our church had given me two pamphlets designed for the homeless--one that listed low-cost and free services and the other that listed locations for food distribution.

I hopped on Allison's bike and headed back to the park, bag of goodies in my hand.

Jim was no longer at the gazebo, having claimed a spot on a bench under a tree just south of "O" Street.  I pedaled Allison's noisy bike his way and stopped for a conversation.

Jim immediately felt her tires and declared them to be too low to ride.  I weigh a little more than Allison, but figured they were probably too low for her, too.  He said he'd take care of it.

He pulled a small pump from his bike (a well-stocked, well-loved bike that represents much of his personal worth), and began pumping fervently.  He invited me to sit on the bench while he took care of the bike.  He then gave me lessons in bearings and cables, showing me where I could make simple adjustments to improve the ride.

We talked bikes for another 15 minutes or so during which he offered to clean up her bike--or any Holt bike, for that matter--as needed.  We also talked briefly about how to get him an ID so he can get a job.  But mostly, he was the one schooling me.

By the time I rode away, I felt like that lucky student whose world had cracked open right there before her very eyes.  I was moved by the experience, both literally and figuratively.