About a year ago I heard that a man in my church had an outreach to a group of homeless people under the bridge at the corner of FM 1960 and Interstate 45. I wanted to help out but was unable to make it at the time scheduled to feed them, so I went on my own whenever I had some free time.

One of the first people I met was a man named Wayne. Wayne was not interested in being my friend. I brought cards down, Wayne doesn’t play cards. I brought dominoes, Wayne hates dominoes. I offered to take Wayne out and buy him some food; Wayne respectfully declined and went on his way.

I remember feeling so strongly that God wanted Wayne and me to be friends, but honestly not believing it would ever happen. Nonetheless, I continued to hassle Wayne and ask him questions and try (unsuccessfully) to make conversation with him.

I finally made it to the outreach and became good friends with Kevin Hancock, (the man who leads it). As I ventured to this bridge more and more, I built many relationships with the people who live and panhandle there. It went far beyond “ministry” and to the point where I really consider them my friends.

I remember talking with Wayne one day, he was being just as difficult as ever, and he asked me what I wanted from him. I told him I wanted to be his friend, nothing more, nothing less. He told me he didn’t have any friends and didn’t want any. I couldn’t help it but I just started laughing. I told Wayne that I was going to be his friend whether he liked it or not, that he was stuck with me. He smiled, but I could tell he didn’t believe me.

I’m sure many different people have come to Wayne over the years he’s been on the streets with good intentions and happy faces only to vanish from his life shortly thereafter.

I’ll never forget the night I knew for sure that Wayne and I were indeed friends. It was a Tuesday night, the night we do the weekly outreach in the area, I approached Wayne and went to shake his hand and he placed a coin in my hand. It was a large plastic coin which read “John 3:16” on it. I asked what this was for and he said, “you’ve given me gifts…I wanted to give you one,” and he kind of looked away from me.

Honestly, it’s one of my most treasured possessions in this world. Later that night I was telling my friends in young hope about it, I was just so excited that Wayne and I were actually friends. Over the course of the last year there have been many long conversations between myself and my friend under that bridge.

I was always curious how he ended up there. He doesn’t fit the stereotype of a homeless person. He doesn’t drink alcohol, doesn’t do drugs and mentally he’s pretty sharp. One day I asked him how he got to this point in his life. He told me he was a plumber. He had a stroke about 20 years ago and the doctors said he would never walk again.

Wayne not only taught himself to walk again but was able to make a full recovery and went back to work. Shortly after returning to work he had another stroke. This one left his right arm paralyzed and his right leg pretty close to paralyzed. That was the end of his plumbing career.

My friend had used up all his savings while recovering from his first stroke so it wasn’t long before he lost his house, his car and then ended up under the bridge I met him at where he’s been ever since.

I’ve often heard people being critical of ministries to the homeless say, “why don’t they just go get a job?” My response to that is to tell them about Wayne and gently remind them that this is not so easy for everyone in the world.

I believe this is who Jesus was referring to when he said, “the least of these”. He was speaking of those who can’t do for themselves, those who can’t “just go get a job”. I started going under that bridge because of this call from Jesus. What I got in return is an amazing friend who I love spending time with.

There was a period of about a month where Wayne had disappeared. Now, Wayne isn’t the talkative type and because he isn’t into alcohol or drugs, he doesn’t associate with most of the other people under the bridge too much.

So when he disappeared people had all sorts of stories about what had happened to him. I heard he was in jail, he had ran off with a prostitute, he had died of a drug overdose, and many other stories. I remember praying for him like crazy and every time I came out to the bridge just hoping he would either be there or that he was somewhere comfortable.

Then one day, I went to the bridge and there he was…sitting in a wheel chair. Apparently his foot got ran over by a car and he spent about a month in the hospital. He was as happy to see me as I was to see him which made my day.

We picked up right where we left off and caught up on the time lost. I recently went home to Alabama for about two months and then went to Germany for two weeks. After returning to Houston, Wayne was one of the first people I wanted to see. He is in a wheelchair right now, though he is, once again, teaching himself to walk.

Many people look at Wayne and think he is weak, but I see a warrior. He is a man who has taught himself to walk and conquered the odds numerous times. Just because he lives on the streets does not make him a failure.

If facing the odds Wayne has faced in his life, most of us would just curl up and die, or stay in a hospital bed, but not Wayne. He does the best he can with what he’s got…and right now that just happens to be a cardboard sign and a wobbly wheelchair.

Recently we were out on a Tuesday night and about 5 or 6 of the residents of the bridge were gathered around Kevin’s truck. A cop car pulled up with one of our friends, Chris, in the back. Apparently Chris had broken some law and was off to spend at least the night in jail.

The police officers began to ask us why we come down there and what our goal was. We told them we love these people and we want to see them get off the streets. The officer told us it wasn’t working and we should stop coming. He said we were the reason they were out there.

He then began to make fun of our friends, pointing out that one is a crack head, another is a prostitute and then he tapped Wayne on the shoulder and made a comment about how dirty he is. I felt like someone had just slapped me in the face. The officer treated me and Kevin respectfully, yet treated our homeless friends like they were somehow, sub-human.

As I look back on the situation I realize that we weren’t completely honest with the officer. We told him our goal was to help people get off the streets. I believe we said that because we felt pressured and that’s the answer that the world understands…but that’s NOT our goal.

In the 25th chapter of Matthew verses 35-45 Jesus very specifically says when we give food to one of the least of His brothers, we are giving Him food. He doesn’t say, “If you change the life of 75% of the least of these brothers of mine, you have been successful”. One of my mentors once told me, “God didn’t call me to be successful; He called me to be faithful”.

We are called to show Jesus’ heart to people. Just the other day I was on the streets and handing soap and socks to some of the people and thinking how ungrateful they were being.

I was reminded of two things. First, it doesn’t matter whether they are grateful or not or whether they ever, “get it” and change their lives. Sure I’d love to see Wayne living in a house and being comfortable, but what if he never does? Will I make myself out to be a liar and abandon the oath I made to him the day I said, “I just want to be your friend, nothing more, nothing less”?

See, in the world’s eyes we need to meet some quota of people getting off the streets, but God calls us to love with no strings attached. You can’t control people; you can only love them and pray for them.

So while I still want to see people make it off the streets I now realize that is not my goal. My goal is to simply be a friend and love them the way Jesus loves me.

This brings me to the second thing I was reminded of. How many times am I ungrateful for the things Jesus gives me? I forget to thank Him for the countless times He has given me victory over seemingly insurmountable hurdles in my life. Instead of thanking Him for those victories I see the next hurdle and go back to believing it’s insurmountable.

Rather than thanking Him for sustaining me and providing for me over and over throughout the course of my life, I complain to Him about how hard it is to live out this life He’s called me to.

I don’t thank Him enough for the very breath He allows to enter my lungs. I’m often ungrateful for the amazing blessing it is to even be able to come into the presence of this holy king and present requests.

Who the heck am I to call a homeless person getting soap and socks ungrateful when I am not grateful to be able to sit at the feet of the God who carved out the mountaintops? To speak with the being whose words separated night from day?

We are all ungrateful. Maybe I should be a little more careful about the measure in which I judge others. My prayer is that next time you see someone holding a sign under a bridge you will remember this story and instead of throwing them some change or just driving off, you will stop, and make a new friend. No one can ever have too many friends.