Homeless Stories: Ronnie

If there is any one thing I get to be a part of that I would cry about not being able to continue, it would be the trips to the parking lot in Knoxville, Tennessee with our students to serve homeless people grilled burgers & hot dogs.  Each time we go, we see people we’ve met before and we see some new faces, too.

Sunday, July 25th, was the last time I was there as of this writing. I’d missed the month before because of my surgery. With the weather hot & humid, the index expected to hit 115 degrees, I questioned my own sanity, and made all the preparations to go.  I came back with some wonderful stories to share.

Ronnie is a fixture at our cookouts. He’s one of the first ones who ever came to visit us. He lives and works at one of the mission homes. He’s very smart about the laws — even attending the council meetings regarding homelessness.

Ronnie’s also an alcoholic. Earlier this year, I took my first tour around the block. That’s where when we first arrive, we walk around the area letting the people know we’re there and will be serving soon. As I neared one of the missions, I saw Ronnie standing there with a couple other fellows.

As I’ve done every time I’ve seen him since we’ve gotten to know each other, I walked up to him and hugged him. The smell of alcohol permeated every inch of space around him. I invited him to come on down and eat and to bring his friends with him. Now mind you, this is a little white woman hugging the stuffin’ out of a large, fairly intoxicated black man on the streets of the city. What was I thinking? I was thinking he needed a hug and he needed to know someone cares.

Ronnie didn’t come that night.

He didn’t come the next month. One of the others who lives at the same mission shared with me that he’d been drinking again and wouldn’t come down.

That next month, he came. I hugged him. We fed him. Later in the evening, I talked with him and confronted him.

“Ronnie, last time I saw you, up there by KARM, you were a little wasted, huh?”

“Yes’m, I was.”

“Ronnie, you know we come here every month for you guys, right? We come here to do this because God loves you and wants the best for you.”

“Yes’m, I know.”

This was where I drew up all 5′ 3″ of me to sort of glower into his face and say, “Ronnie, I don’t care if you’ve been drinking. I don’t care if you’re ashamed of that. When we’re here in this parking lot, I want you to come down here and get fed. I missed you.”

Ronnie’s head hung down and I hugged him again and told him I meant it. His faults are nothing. We love him anyway.

This Sunday, Ronnie showed up and we had a talk again. This time it was much different. Ronnie shared with me about those darker days — that he allowed himself to go with and try to be like those other guys. He confessed that he’d been drinking when he shouldn’t have.

“My case worker didn’t like it. My boss didn’t like it either.” He told me.

“Ronnie, I wasn’t too fond of it myself!” I said. And we laughed. Joy in that moment.

He then went on to share about concerns for friends that we both know as he stood there holding a plate of burgers and a bag with chips and drinks to take to those who couldn’t come down.

He worries about Jackie, whose diabetes is so debilitating, he might lose his feet.

He’s concerned for Cecil, who has issues with people — wouldn’t even walk all the way into our area the first several times we served him. We would literally fix a plate and carry it to him, far from the crowd.

He’s concerned for another who may be put out of the mission because of his behavior, wishing his buddy would just buckle down and accept the help he needs.

Before we parted Sunday night, Ronnie made sure I have his phone number so that when we’re headed to Knoxville, I can call him to make sure he knows and can get the word out.

What a partner in ministry!

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