Imagine an 86-year-old homeless man on a park bench, wearing old thrown-away clothes that we deem rags, bundled up in an old quilt and leaning with his good hand on a walker. This man has a broken leg that has gone untreated, a hand with an open sore on it that also looks broken, and a smell of stale urine that you can pick up about two or three feet away.
His family is on ”the other side”… the states, that is…and he has no address or way to reach them. He has camped out there for three weeks now, in front of a Catholic church, begging passers by to help him get ahold of the DIF (the government agency responsible for charities, etc.) and get him into an assisted living center. You know, the place where most old folks don’t want to go.
A redheaded young man in his twenties who speaks maybe a couple sentences in Spanish approaches him to see how he’s doing. This young man is just trying his hand at witnessing to people in Plaza Allende and has no clue what the old man is saying…enter the translator, of course.
I had decided to follow Chad and John (two fellow missionaries) around for our group that night, telling God, ”wherever you want me to go tonight, Lord, make it happen.”
After getting roped into the conversation, I soon found myself having to explain to the desperate old man that, apart from praying for him and perhaps buying him something to eat, we really didn’t have the power to take him anywhere in the van (we’re not allowed to transport strangers). We also had no idea where to go to get free help, nor where there is a home or shelter for homeless older folks.
The man insisted that, because we were with a church, the priest across the street would listen to us. Since there were a wedding and what looked like a couple quinciñeras (15th birthdays) going on, he would not be available. Our only option was to try and find out information for him while praying for his well-being.
As I prayed, I felt a spirit of pleading, of compassion and desperation for this old man. I told him afterwards that, even when the priest cannot pray for him, God still hears his prayers, and that Jesus is with him in his darkest hours, that his heart breaks for his pain. As we left, I felt a desperate need to help the man and an extreme, almost angry, frustration with our limited resources. I wanted to call someone to pick up the poor, starving old man.
I didn’t care how he got to that bench. I just wanted him to have deliverance from his pain…by miracle if necessary, or by Jesus if it were his time.
After an intense night of crying and prayer, I resolved per the advice of Pastor Bob to go to the DIF headquarters on my day off with Chad. We went there last Monday, and unfortunately because of Tuesday’s holiday (the Mexican Revolution), it was closed. I had written down some comforting verses for him the night before (one of them Psalm 23) and bought some snacks to eat, so I delivered both to him the next day and talked to him.
Something different had touched the man…perhaps not obvious, but in retrospect, I did see a glimmer of hope on his face. A smile of hope in desperation. He knew we did our best, amidst my apologies and promises to keep in touch with him, and I prayed for him and for his comfort in time of pain before we left.
Yesterday, on an atypical Sunday (we don’t usually go out, but Abbey’s mom was visiting), the van passed by Manuel’s bench. The blankets, the walker, the newspapers soaked in rainwater were gone.
I was going to check online for some numbers to call today and see if they could help while the DIF was open. Since he’s there no more, I know the Lord answered my prayer in one way or another.
To all of you at home who read this, I would ask that you keep Manuel Sánchez in your prayers. My greatest hope is that he is with the Lord right now.
Also, I would also ask that, if you happen to be throwing away any old winter clothes from last year (perhaps they shrunk in the closet, or that multi-colored knit cardigan from 1985 needs to go), that you would send it here to Matamoros. The folks here are not accustomed to cold, and without heating and insulation in some of these makeshift homes, 35 to 50 degrees at night is very hard to bare.
Thank you all for your continued support and prayers. I will see some of you soon as I arrive on December 15th for my holiday break.
God bless us, everyone!
