Hugs
Yes...Hugs.
Friends who know me say I have the best hugs.
They say I have “Momma hugs.”
The all encompassing, comfort and safety of knowing you are loved.
Let me tell you about a special one.
I used to volunteer for a ministry that worked with the homeless and street kids in a certain part of Houston. The work was started by a wonderful couple and a man with a heart of gold. Martin and Kim, and Pastor Joe are truly one of a kind.
Rain or shine, they can be found on Wednesday nights setting up to feed starving bodies and starving souls. Souls that people didn’t know needed nourishment.
Every year on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, the ministry provides a full Thanksgiving meal with ALL the fixings. And I do mean ALL. Churches from all over the area come together to make sure that blessings overflow.
One year, I met Pat. I’ll call him Pat.
Pat came in at the very end of the feeding time. He was wearing a large, bulky fur coat. He had applied full makeup and was wearing a thin garment with leggings and ankle boots. I saw him look around and so I approached him.
“Have you eaten yet?”I asked.
“No”, he replied. “But I’m sure it’s all gone”.
“Don’t worry.” I told him. “Let me go get you some food. And oh, what kind of pie do you like?”
“Do you think they have apple?”
I smiled, thumbs up, and went off to make him a plate.
I grabbed the last piece of apple pie and made him a plate of food. He had made it just in time.
I brought him his food and asked if I could sit with him. He waved his hand at the chair with a small, little roll of his eyes. He thought the preaching was coming.
I asked him if I could ask him some questions. He said sure.
“Can you tell me your story?” I asked.
He looked at me as if trying to figure out what the catch was. I waited patiently.
He sighed and then began speaking. He told me about running away from home at 17. That home wasn’t bad but he was. He talked about his mom and grandma and that he didn’t know his dad. About the little brother he had left behind. And he talked about missing food his grandma made and the smell of clean sheets.
He had grown up in Arkansas somewhere and made his way to Houston. He never thought he would be homeless, but the streets grab you and hold you and don’t let you go.
He paused and looked around and took a deep breath. He talked about having to make money in ways his Momma and Grandma wouldn’t like. And that he hadn’t seen home in ten years.
He looked down at his empty plate and then back at me. “Can I pray with you?” I asked.
He shook his head yes. I prayed a very short prayer...affirming how much God loved this child and asked for Him to protect him as he walked the streets.
Then...this is where it happened. This moment.
I asked if I could hug him.
With tears running down his cheeks he shook his head yes. I gave him a “Momma hug” and he held on and sobbed into my shoulder. I made comforting sounds of soothing.
He stepped back and looked at me. And said this:
“I expected you to preach at me. Instead you listened. You heard my story and your eyes didn’t judge me. And then you hugged me.” Fresh tears started again. “And I can’t tell you when the last time somebody hugged me without wanting anything from me. You hug like my Momma.”
Our conversation went on and he indicated he was ready to get off the streets. I pointed him towards my friend and told him, “That talk starts there.”
A little while later I saw that he was deep in conversation with my friend Martin. Both bowed their heads. And I knew a decision had been made. Someone was going to eventually get to head home.
Pat came for free food. He received a lot more.
God used a “Momma hug” to touch his heart.
Come on Covid...quit already. There’s a bunch of people out there that need hugs.
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