The smell was like burning plastic. I thought someone had thrown an empty water bottle in this garbage heap. I was as close to the fire pit as I could get. I was freezing. I longed for a hot bath or my car heater. These people had neither. No car heaters, no hot water or bath to go home to, just more cold. I found myself unable to process exactly what I was experiencing, but I knew I would never be the same.
Unfortunately, it was no water bottle burning that night; it was my long sweater jacket which I was wearing over two layers of clothing. I was so cold that I had managed to neglect my safety in an effort to get as close to the dumpster fire as I could. I wasn't even upset about the ruined jacket; I was more concerned that I would have to take my jacket off. I decided that although the jacket was now scorched and missing its corner, I didn't care. I just wanted to keep it on.
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That evening, I couldn't speak or eat; I had no emotional capacity to respond to anything rationally. I just wanted to curl up in a ball and sleep to make some attempt at regaining my strength. But as I looked around me and saw the faces of these homeless individuals, I was reminded that this is normal everyday life for them. I got to leave in a warm car, step into a hot tub, put on warm dry clothing, and sleep in a warm comfortable bed. Not just that night, but every night. Those faces I reflected upon have none of those luxuries. I quickly realized one thing: I am here for a purpose. I was experiencing something that would forever change my views on the homeless population. Almost immediately I no longer concerned myself with how they got there (so I could deliver my swift judgments), but rather what I could do to help. I pulled myself together, regained my composure, and continued to talk with the individuals present, serving them coffee and soup on Rio Grande Street that night. That was my mission. I was to experience what the homeless population experience each day so that I could remember what I have. I was there to make sure they knew that although we don’t know their story, somebody was interested and concerned. I was called on that night to be that somebody—to do something—to bring any ounce of compassion I could muster. They may be homeless, but I was determined to make sure they were not voiceless.
It was over two years ago and I can still recall their faces; each and every one of them. There was about 150 people out that night on Rio Grande Street. In 2013, a report was published by the Utah Department of Workforce Services titled a “Comprehensive Report on Homelessness”. It provided a staggering number: 0.55% of Utah’s population was homeless. That comes out to roughly 15,000 people. That is 15,000 faces staring back at you. 15,000 faces hoping you can help. I imagined filling a football field with those faces and the impact that would make, like a ceremonial vail lifting, exposing the needs and hurts of others. It was then that I decided to get involved. To be a voice and serve others who are most often invisible to us.
