big issue | Everything is Dandy

So that you are forewarned, this post was very hard for me to write as I found myself becoming increasingly emotional whilst trying to get the words down. I hope, in some way, I have conveyed the deeper meaning and pressing importance of what I have written to you.

Yesterday night I was out in the city with my dad for dinner. We enjoyed a leisurely evening and weren’t troubled by the bill, crowds of people, slightly chilly air or increasing darkness. On our way back to the train I encountered something that blew everything out of proportion.

In Victoria (I’m not sure how much of Australia has this program) there is an initiative that works alongside homeless and disadvantaged people that allows them to sell copies of a magazine, ‘The Big Issue’, and retain half of the profits they make. Basically, its allowing them a chance to get themselves on their feet and become responsible for their journey out of desperation. I have always found it extremely admirable and supported it at any opportunity I could.

Back to last night.

As we were walking out of the alleyway where our restaurant was, I noticed a man in an electric wheelchair with a sign hanging off it advertising the Big Issue magazine. We quickly overtook him and I turned around to notice that he couldn’t have been more than 30 years old and was extremely physically and mentally disabled.

My heart broke.

I stopped my dad and pulled out the $20 note I’d taken with me that day, intending to get the $14 change from the vendor. As I approached and indicated my intentions of buying a magazine, the man tried desperately to communicate that I had to get my own change from the bag hanging around his neck.

He did not have the capacity to move his arms to give me the change I required. On top of that, he struggled to form the words to communicate with me this information. I could sense his agitation within himself, and his overwhelming desperation.

I decided to leave him my change and took the magazine from the bag on his lap. Before I left I told him that I’d given him the change and I wished him a really good night, smiling as much as I could and touching him on the shoulder. Words cannot express the utter joy in his face as he said “Thank you”. Never before have those words carried such sincerity or genuine happiness. And never before have I felt so impacted by them.

Turning around and rejoining with my dad, I burst into tears.

So many questions flooded into my mind. Does he have somewhere to go tonight? Will someone be there to look after him? What happens if some heartless idiot decides to rob him? He’s defenceless.

I still, to this moment, cannot get his face out of my mind. That raw humanity, untainted by pride or the pursuit of perfection that we all seem to be so consumed by. Here was a man, with barely the ability to look after himself, doing everything possible to bring himself up out of the ground.

I guess I could explain it as one of those pivotal moments. People often speak about the time when poverty really started to mean something to them.

I thought it had happened in Fiji, or when I’d done a lot of research into World Vision. But in actual fact, the realisation of the prevalence of poverty and in our own country hit me much harder than I ever imagined it would. Especially when faced with the reality of people like the man I met last night, disabled and defenceless, living out on the streets.

I’m still unsure of how this new perspective will work into my life, or what I will do with it, but if anyone is reading this who is faced with the opportunity to look beyond the appearance or circumstances of a homeless person and start asking themselves the hard questions…I encourage you to look for sympathy, compassion and gentleness in your own heart.