just waiting

It was getting late, and darkness had brought with it a crisp November chill. A handful of Sacred Heart staff was still at work, busy with the final preparations for the following morning’s holiday registration. We knew the morning sun would reveal vast numbers of children and adults lined up around the block in the hopes of signing up for our holiday services, so everything needed to be in place the night before.

As we moved back and forth, setting up chairs for our disabled customers and posting signs directing volunteers to the back of the building, we noticed an old man who had quietly pulled a wire cart up to our front door. From his cart he drew a chair, and there appeared to settle in to what would be a long, cold night. After the shortest deliberation, we decided it would be unconscionable to allow this man—who we later learned was 70 years old—to remain outdoors all night. Opening our front door we approached him and asked what we could do for him.

“I’m just waiting for the registration to begin,” he told us. It was 7:00pm, and we had advertised that registration would begin at 9:00am the next day. “But it’s not for me. It’s for my daughters. They take care of me.” The old man went on to say that his daughters, who were both getting off work at midnight, would be there to relieve him by 1:00am.

We explained that it wasn’t necessary for him to remain outside all night, that there would be enough slots available if he came back in the morning. At this he rubbed his chin and thought for a moment. “No, I’d better stay. I don’t want to risk it.”

Again we pleaded with him, this time taking down his daughters’ names and guaranteeing that they would be registered. “You don’t understand,” he insisted. “There will be no Thanksgiving meal for us, no presents for my grandchildren if I leave.” Still we tried to persuade him, and still he stood firm.

After twenty minutes of our insistence, the old man finally folded up his chair and lifted it into his cart. “If it’s OK," he asked politely, "I’m going to wait until you leave ... and then come back.” And without waiting for a response,  he pulled his cart into the darkness.