Coffee and Biscuits

Sitting across the table from my friend, I gave him two options: go to treatment or sleep on the streets tonight.

Knowing that the glass wall from Waffle House was the only barrier between us and the elements, my heart was torn.

Words kept crossing my mind as I listened and watched his eyes and analyzed the situation

enabling . . . cold . . . sleep . . . Jesus . . . insanity . . . decisions . . . compassion . . . boundaries

There was a third option, but I wasn't willing to verbalize it.

Why?

Because by allowing this option I would have had to face my own fears. And I didn't want that.

The third option was purchasing another one night stay at the motel, which I and others had done repeatedly throughout the last month.

If I do this, then I'm putting my financial situation in jeopardy. But, what about the basic human need for shelter? What about the basic human need for warmth? What about looking past the insanity and the addiction, and seeing the simplicity of keeping someone warm for one . . . more . . . night?

The problem I faced last night is one I'm assuming many deal with, especially this time of year when if you look just beneath the surface of the "spirit" of the holidays, which commercials and advertisements capture with bells and jingles and joy and peace, you find narratives that aren't so peaceful and joyful and spirit-filled.

Beneath the mainstream narrative of the bells and whistles of Christmas are real, troubling, and chaotic subplots. They're happening all around us. If we allow ourselves to look, we may compromise our own feelings of Christmas.

And so it was, last night, over coffee and biscuits.

And so it is with my landlord, who after sixteen years of handing out money to her daughter, bailing her out, bending over backwards, is finally done. Finished. She's had enough. She'll spend this Christmas wondering how all these years she couldn't see the writing on the wall.

The problem with my decision last night is, I could have but I didn't. I had the ability to provide shelter, and I didn't. Take away my agenda of seeing my friend get well, take away my agenda of helping my friend get sober, and I'm left with a friend who needs a warm place to lay his head.

I didn't simplify it to that. I held on to my agendas and fears. Am I beating myself up or losing sleep about it? No, I slept great last night. But, when I asked myself the question twenty minutes ago in my meditation, "Was I selfish yesterday?" I had to answer yes because of the decision I made to not purchase a motel room when I had the ability to do so.

So, here's my conclusion: If I have the ability and the means to help someone with their basic needs for survival, and I choose not to out of fear, it's not a wrong decision but a selfish decision. If I say yes out of fear then it's also a selfish decision. So, the problem is not whether my decisions are right or wrong.

The question is, Am I helping others based on selfishness or compassion?

I've given up on the idea that if you purchase x amount of hotel rooms for y amount of nights, and the person doesn't do z, then you're enabling them. The principle of enabling has been an easy way to throw a blanket solution on an infinite amount of diverse stories, lives, and faces. It's been a way to make it easier to turn our backs on people who just don't get it. It keeps us from having to step all the way in to the suffering of our fellows, in order to avoid getting burned ourselves.

Enabling isn't about other people. It's about us. Am I helping this person out of fear and selfishness, or am I helping this person out of my love for God? You can't generalize the principle of enabling. It can only be individualized.

So, today, whether my friend wants to adhere to my agendas or not, I'm gonna simplify it down to praying for God to remove any fear and selfishness before I interact with him. If I have the ability and the means, I will share what I have even if it means taking off the "recovery hat" and putting on the "basic human need for survival hat."