A white bearded man held a little sign in his hand. He stood just outside Cafe 41:11 hoping to catch a ride from busy commuters. (Maybe you've seen him on your travels about town?) At first glance I thought, Ole St. Nick's driver's license must be suspended? I walked outside and asked him where he was headed.
"I'm going to Giant Eagle to get some food."
"Do you know about our cafe?"
"No," he replied.
"Well, come inside and check it out. We serve free food and coffee. If you're hungry, I can get you a bowl of soup or something."
Santa followed me into the cafe and we spent time talking about the cafe, who we are and what we're about. He was touched by our mission and purpose. Then, I felt a spiritual nudging to drive him to Giant Eagle. It was bitterly cold out and he was sporting a wooden crutch to help with his nearly limp leg. Seeing the way he hobbled while holding his leg reminded me of Dr. House. I grinned.
We got in my car and drove to Giant Eagle. I felt another spiritual nudge, "Do you want me to wait for you outside and take you back home?"
"Would you?" he chuckled.
"I don't mind waiting," I replied. "Besides, it's too cold out to be waiting for a ride with bags of groceries."
"I'll be quick. I just need to get a few things. I'm on food stamps because I don't have a lot of money. It won't take me long. This is great! I can get more 2-liters of pop since I have a ride. I think they're on sale right now!"
I pulled into the parking lot. He suggested, "Why don't you just come inside with me? It'll only take a few minutes. I know right where everything is."
Feeling adventurous and generous I replied, "Sure...I'll come in with you."
I parked the car, got out, and opened the car door for him. As I wrestled his crutch out of my car's grasp, my heart whispered: treat him as if he was Jesus. (All those years of Sunday School pay off.)
The steel grocery cart clanked annoyingly against the white tiled floor as we walked the isles. He talked a lot. Sharing repetitiously how he doesn't have many friends and how his family abandoned him, not even an e-mail all these years. I listened. His brown leather glove fell to the floor. I bent over and picked it up. He talked some more. I listened some more, took over steering the grocery cart, and smiled.
His crutch, poking awkwardly out of the shopping cart, knocked over a bag of chips. I lifted the bag from the floor and put it back on the shelf. Papa Noel talked some more. I laughed. We were having fun taking our time. The world was annoyed at our clumsiness and slothfulness. They would barely squeeze by us in those narrow isles with eyes like gunslingers. The jolly old elf was oblivious to their inconvenience. It was great!
We made our way to frozen foods. Holding up his index finger (nearly laying his finger aside of his nose) and looking me dead in the eyes said, "I only have one vice. I don't drink, and I don't smoke. But I love ice cream." He grabbed a tub of ice cream from the freezer and placed it carefully in the cart. Then took over driving the cart.
At one point he stopped the cart in the middle of an isle, once again to the detriment of other shoppers, "I'll tell you what. Since you were so kind enough to drive me to and from the store. Let me buy something for the cafe. What do you need for the kids right now?"
"No, you don't have to do that. I'm just glad to be able to help you." (Why do we say this? What is it about the human condition that we are so quick to nod away generosity? To dismiss a kind gift? To wave off lending from a neighbor?)
"Now come on. What do you need?" he insisted with a twinkle in his eye as if to say: if you don't tell me what you need, I'll buy something on my own. (It reminded me of the scene from Christmas Vacation where Clark W. Griswold and Uncle Eddie are in the store shopping.)
"Well," I thought for a moment. "We do need some coffee creamer."
"Okay, I'll buy the cafe some creamer."
We found the coffee creamer and he threw two large containers of it into the cart. We went through the self-check out lane, packed the groceries into the car, and drove north toward the square. I dropped Father Christmas off at his apartment building and helped carry his groceries to the porch. We shook hands and exchanged "thank you's," "it was nice to meet you's," and "you're welcome's."
I stopped believing in Santa Clause last year.
But maybe...just...maybe. Naahh...it couldn't have been. Or...was it!?
"He who is kind to the poor lends to the lord, and he will reward him for what he has done" (NIV, Proverbs 19:17).