Cheesy Honesty

Walking down the street several days ago, I saw an elderly homeless man. Upon first glance, I realized that he had absolutely nothing except for the clothes that he was wearing, the cane that he was leaning on, and the paper coffee cup - similar to the one from which I had had a wonderful, warm cup of coffee in only seconds before - with no more than a handful of coins that some polite people had given him. My immediate reaction was to feel sorry for this man, but after watching him for a few moments, the feelings of guilt turned to curiosity. As I watched this man, I couldn't help but question how he lives such a life. Where on earth does this man find hope, when he isn't even guaranteed a place to sleep. Where in the world does this elderly, homeless man find strength, when he isn't even guaranteed a meal that day. The only answer I could come up with was faith.

Faith to me is a funny thing. I have always admired people who have a strong sense of faith, because for me, faith has always been pretty difficult. When I take a step back, and look at life, and this world as a whole, nothing seems to make sense. The past few days I have been homesick. I have been thinking and longing for this wonderful home. This beautiful place that provides me with a sense of warmth, safety and nourishment. And best of all, this familiar place that is constantly offering me a sense of love, acceptance, and family unlike any other.



After shedding a few tears over  my longing for home, however, I walk out of my apartment to go to the gym, only to stumble upon this. These two men who have somehow managed to set up camp in the lobby next to my apartment building. These two men who don't have a home and sleep on hard tile floor, hoping to escape the streets just for one night. Once again I stumbled upon the question: how? How do these men wake up in the morning, pack up their things, and continue to push through this thing that they call life? And yet again, the only word I could think of was faith.

Don't get me wrong, I love my home, my family, my warm and comfortable bed, but I grow envious when I begin to realize that these men have something that I do not. These men have a faith unlike anything that I have ever dreamed of. I want what they have.

Being the control freak that I am, each day here I am reminded that life is a mystery. We are fools to even begin to think that we have even the slightest bit of control. But I guess that's the point of it all. We make plans, and things go wrong; we have hopes and dreams, and things get in the way.  But its what we do that counts. It is the ability to take a step back when I forget my boarding pass, and thus miss my first flight to Barcelona, and just accept fate. It is getting lost on the Barcelona metro, where there isn't a single friendly face, or a helping hand to be found, and having a little faith. It is taking the wrong turn, and consequently learning the way. It being pushed aside as outsiders by much of the Catalan community, and often growing a little lonely, and trusting that in the end it is going to be worth it. It is taking this enormous opportunity, letting faith take care of the fear, and instead focusing on the promise. It all comes together in the end.

I knew I was taking a leap of faith by leaving Nashville for four months, and calling a completely foreign place my home. What I didn't know, however, was that the leap was going to be so huge, and that I was going to make it to the other not only ok, but happy, grateful, stronger, more confident, and with a much stronger sense of faith.


"As your faith is strengthened you will find that there is no longer the need to have a sense of control, that things will flow as they will, and that you will flow with them, to your great delight and benefit."