Bags of hope

Speak up for those who cannot speak for themselves, for the rights of all who are destitute. Speak up and judge fairly; defend the rights of the poor and needy. (Proverbs 31:8-9)

Over the Christmas holidays, I was privileged to spend time with my family in Colorado. After changing trains to travel from the airport to my mom’s house, I noticed a gentleman outside my window. Stepping down onto the tracks, he sifted through the gravel and pulled out a few discarded cigarette butts to place into his pocket. He must be desperate to do such a thing, I thought. 

As our train began its journey, the track curved to the right, affording me a view of a bridge on the left that traversed the path. Nestled beneath the bridge’s bowels sat at least six tents that housed a small homeless community. I wondered if the man I saw was living amongst that population. Every year that I’ve made this journey, I’ve noticed more and more tents popping up near the rails. It saddens me to see people subsisting this way. 

Several stops later, the train conductor came out of his booth and lowered the ramp to allow two passengers to board. The first was pushing a low cart with boxes of assorted goods. He must be a vendor, I thought. The second passenger pushed a bike inside the railcar and took his seat in front of me. 

“That’s a pretty mask,” the first gentleman said to me, catching my attention. 

“Thank you,” I responded. “If I have to wear one…” 

Before I could finish my statement, the reality of what this man was pushing hit me and I was rendered speechless. Empty boxes and used water bottles sat amidst open cans situated beneath a purple canvas bag. The cans, more than anything, caught my attention for the curious way they stood empty. The lids had been punctured and peeled back in four jagged sections as if someone had cut them with a strange pocket knife rather than a traditional can opener. Why does this man have all these empty items on his cart? I wondered. Could he, too, be homeless?

As we continued our journey, God placed a desire on my heart to help these two men. Unzipping my backpack, I reached inside and removed several bills. 

When the train’s intercom system announced that the next stop would be mine, I looked over to the man with the cart and told him I needed to exit. Looking into the man’s eyes, I extended a folded bill to him while asking, “May I give you this?” 

The man’s eyes lit up as he saw my small offering. “Thank you. Yes,” he responded as he reached over to accept the gift. 

“God loves you,” I explained. “I hope you know that.” 

“I do,” came the reply. 

“I’m sorry for whatever you’re going through,” I said. “Never give up hope.”

“I believe that,” he replied. “We have to trust and never doubt in God.” 

“I agree,” I said. “I’ve been through some tough times myself – not always knowing where I’d sleep at night. But God brought me through my challenges, and He will help you, too. Keep praying. God hears you, and He knows. Merry Christmas!” 

Leaning over to give the man pushing the bike some money, as well, I told him, “Merry Christmas! This is for you, too.” 

His eyes lit up as he accepted the small gift. “Thank you! It’s my Daddy’s birthday!” he said. 

Presuming he meant Jesus’s birthday, I responded, “You’re right! It sure is!” 

Rising to push my suitcases to the door, I looked both men in the eyes and told them I’d be praying for them. As they thanked me again, I assured them that I was blessed to have met them. They laughed and said the same to me in return. 

My mother, brother, and I walked through their neighborhood two nights later, enjoying the Christmas lights. I had already shared the story of my train encounter with them but couldn’t stop thinking about the homeless men I met on my journey. “I want to do more,” I explained.

My 14-year-old nephew was visiting the next day, and I knew it was important to involve him in my outreach. “I thought we could get tote bags and stuff them with hats, scarves, gloves, and small food items to take back to the encampment I saw by the tracks.” Much to my delight, my family agreed. 

“Years ago, right before we moved to Georgia, we didn’t have money for Christmas gifts,” I recalled. “I made huge batches of cookies and took them to the hospital to give to the patients. That was when Matthew West and Amy Grant came out with their song, ‘Give This Christmas Away.’ It’s been my favorite Christmas song ever since. That was such an amazing Christmas. I want to do the same thing this year. I want to give this Christmas away.” 

Stopping at a bench along our path, we sat down to watch a YouTube video of the Matthew West song together. It was cold, but a warm joy filled my heart. “That’s what we’re going to do!” I exclaimed. “I’m so excited!” 

When my nephew arrived the next day, I told him we were going on a great adventure and needed his help. After repeating the story of my train encounter, I explained my idea to create “Bags of Hope” to give away to the homeless in his community. I shared the video with him and explained that he would get a big blessing from sharing Christmas hope with those less fortunate than we are. He, too, agreed.

Hours later, we had purchased items to create ten drawstring backpacks filled with the following items: 

• One 24-ounce bag of pretzels with a clothespin to keep it fresh after opening
• A toothbrush and toothpaste travel pack
• Two mini Rice Krispy treats
• One pocket-sized pack of tissues
• One 16-ounce bottle of flavored water
• One pack of four cheese peanut butter crackers
• One blueberry protein bar
• One 2-ounce pack of applesauce
• Five antibacterial wipes in a reusable bag
• One 3-ounce pouch of flavored tuna fish 
• One knit beanie hat
• One fleece scarf
• One pair of fleece-lined gloves
• One pair of heavyweight socks

In addition to the above, we included Christmas cards with handwritten messages reminding each recipient of his or her importance along with the assurance of God’s love. Below the message, we wrote John 3:16 – God’s personal offering of hope. “For God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him will not perish but have eternal life.” 

We sang as we packed in an assembly line, naming each item to the tune of the “12 Days of Christmas.” We placed the pretzels, clothing, and bottled water in the bottom of each backpack and topped it with a gallon ziplock bag containing the food items – along with the Christmas card. As I sealed each bag of hope, I prayed out loud that God would bless the recipients – that they’d find God who would keep them safe and well.

And so we set out for distribution. We had decided, together, that we didn’t need to go to the encampment I’d seen from the train. We would give our gifts to any homeless persons we spotted along the road. 

The first individual we encountered was sitting on steps below a school. My nephew and I jumped out of the car and walked up to the building with the bag. As we approached, the woman seated there seemed nervous and started gathering her things, preparing to leave.

“Merry Christmas,” I announced as I waved my hand to her. Realizing we weren’t a threat, she sat back down. 

“Merry Christmas,” she responded.

“We wanted to give you a Bag of Hope,” I explained. “May we do so?” 

“Okay,” came the reply. 

As I approached, I realized that the woman had a large scabbed wound on her forehead, and one of her wrists had been loosely wrapped with an Ace bandage. 

“We want you to know that you’re important, and God loves you,” I explained as I presented the backpack to the woman.

“Thank you,” she responded. “Is this your son?” 

“He’s my nephew,” I explained.

“Stay in school,” the woman told him. She appeared on the verge of tears as she spoke to us. “Just stay in school. It’s important.”

“I will,” said my nephew.

“May I give you a hug?” I asked the woman who had stood up to greet us. 

“Yes. I’d like that,” she said. 

Embracing the woman, I hugged her long and hard. ”We’re praying for you,” I told her. “I’m sorry for whatever you’re going through. We’ll keep praying for you.” 

As we walked away, I gave my nephew a one-armed hug. “God will bless you for your kindness,” I told him. “Don’t you feel the joy already?”

“Yes,” he responded, “but it makes me sad, too.” 

“I know,” I explained, “but your simple act of love may make a huge difference to the person that you’re helping. Never forget that.” 

As we returned to the car with my mother and brother, I detailed our encounter along with my regret that I hadn’t remembered to ask the woman’s name. “I will next time.” 

Not far up the road, we spotted two small tents near the parking lot of a convalescent home. This time, my brother came along. We learned that one of the campers was named Ron. The other tent sat empty. “We wanted to remind you that God loves you and that you’re important, “ I explained. 

“I don’t feel important,” Ron said. “I don’t have COVID. I have cancer.” 

“I’m so sorry. I wish we could do more,” I said as I placed the backpack next to Ron’s tent. He was on his hands and knees, halfway out of his tent, but didn’t appear to want to come further. 

“We’re praying for you,” my brother said as we waved goodbye. 

Continuing on our journey, we belatedly noticed a tent surrounded by grocery carts near the interstate, next to a McDonald’s. We were committed to the highway at that point, so we continued, scouring the roadside for further evidence of tents. Spotting more beneath a bridge, we exited the road and made our way back to where we had seen the encampment.

After parking, my brother, nephew, and I loaded our arms with backpacks and began trekking to the bridge. As we descended the hill to the camp, two men spotted us, broke out in smiles, and walked towards us. The first came directly to me with his hand outstretched in greeting.

“I’m Brian,” he said. 

Brian’s smile was infectious, and I heartily returned his greeting. “I’m Sara,” I responded. “We wanted to bring you a bag of hope to remind you that God loves you and that you’re important.” 

“You give me hope just by coming here today,” Brian said. “I pray every day that God will show me HIs will. Thank you for this. It means a lot just to have you come here.” 

“It makes me so happy to hear you say that,” I responded. “God hears you, and He will guide you if you ask Him to.”

“I’m so sorry for whatever you’re going through,” I explained. “God brought me out of two abusive marriages. I know what it’s like to not know where you’ll sleep at night.”

“I’m new to this type of thing,” Brian replied. “I was sitting by the rails when a young girl came and asked me if I’d like to warm up by their fire. I’m in between things right now, but I’m praying that God will show me what to do next.”

“He will, Brian,” I affirmed. “God brought me through my situation, and He will do the same for you. Keep praying and asking God to guide you. I know He will.” 

Turning, I introduced Brian to my brother and nephew, who had been talking to the other camp dweller who had come out to meet us. Brian extended his hand to my nephew, asked his grade, then told him to enjoy every minute of his education. “Stay in school,” Brian said. “This is a great time in your life. Soak it up.” 

As we departed, I waved again and reminded our new friends that we’d be praying for them.

After returning to our car, we drove back to the tent by the McDonald’s and gave away three more stuffed backpacks – relaying the same message, asking the names of those we encountered, and telling everyone we’d pray for them. 

At the end of the day, we’d given away eight of our ten bags, with a promise to continue this practice and keep praying for the individuals we’d met. “Never forget how blessed you are,” I told my nephew. “And never doubt how much a simple act of love can change someone’s life forever.” 

As the subsequent days grew colder, we bought more grocery items and returned to the bridge encampment to give them away. I hoped to see Brian again, to let him and the others know that I’d been praying for them every night since I met them. “It’s one thing to know about something,” I told my mother. “It’s another to experience it first-hand.” 

This activity has changed me. While I didn’t see Brian again, he remains in my heart and prayers – as do the others. We’re all just a breath away from the same existence and can never forget the less fortunate in our communities. I don’t know what 2022 will bring to my life, but I’m more determined than ever to make a difference in the lives of everyone I encounter. With God’s help, we can all do the same. 

Hope isn’t a noun. It’s a verb. Merriam-Webster defines hope as “want[ing] something to happen or be true and think that it could happen or be true.” 

God’s love is real. We don’t hope that message is true. We know it is because Christ died for our sins to demonstrate His love for us. We hold that truth in our hands as a gift to give others. We can’t keep it to ourselves. Our Heavenly Father sacrificed His Son to provide eternal salvation to everyone that wishes to receive His gift.

Spread God’s love around and give it away to everyone you know. However you package it, there is no better offering than the gift of our Creator’s love and hope.