Remembering Keith and Cheeto

Most of you haven't been following my blog from the beginning, but last fall I wrote a bit about a man named Keith and his cute dog Cheeto. He was homeless. My co-workers and I became friends with him. He and his dog stole our hearts and much of the fall and winter they were a fixture around the store, visiting for a bit to get out of the cold. Keith became ill and being a veteran was admitted to the Veteran's hospital here in town last spring. This summer he decided to move back to Arizona to be with family. We found out on Friday that he passed away this past week. This post was published a year ago today, in which I wrote about meeting him. He changed my life. I won't be the same. Surely, I can change....


Compassion has never been a strength of mine. Ooh, bad bad Christian. But the truth is I'm not always real merciful by nature. The sad part is a lot of the time when I've lacked compassion I couldn't care less. I think they call it self-absorbed.

I've been challenged lately to change. It's been a combination of things really, but there's no mistaking the feelings of discomfort that come with conviction. I felt it rising like an uncomfortable heat while I read Crazy Love. Then it trickled out in tears and sadness while watching a Sara Groves documentary about her trips to Louisiana and Rwanda. My mind started to ponder the hurts, injustices and sadness in this world. This world I've been too self-absorbed to notice.

There's a homeless man I keep running into around town. He looks to be in his early fifties, but it's hard to tell. His face is weathered, and his frame slim and wiry. The first time I saw him was outside of the EZ mart by my workplace. He was standing outside by the trash can and he had this adorable dog with him. I love animals and his sweet mutt captured my attention with his wiry white and black coat and sweet face. He was jumping up and down in front of the his master and just looked happy to have a companion. The man had him on a makeshift leash, just a simple thin rope.

"You have a cute dog" I commented as I brushed past. He smiled kindly and thanked me. When I came out he was gone.

Last week I was walking between the buildings at work and he came up with one of our stuffed animals in his hand.

"This was about to fly away" He handed it to me. It was a very windy day and the cute little thing must have escaped the sales table in front of the store. "I was wondering if you have any thread"

"Dread?" So I'm a little hard of hearing. Why did I think a man would be asking if we had dread? Because I'm a dork, that's why.

"No. Thread. I need it for my sleeping bag."

Oh. I managed to mumble a few words about going to check. It was a chilly morning. It had been downright cold the night before. A night I relished because I was going to chow down on chicken noodle soup and wear fuzzy socks and sleep in a comfy bed. But this poor man and his adorable dog were sleeping somewhere on the ground in a sleeping bad that needed mending. My heart broke. I rushed around the store, rummaging through drawers in search of a sewing kit. I prayed I would find it, that in some small way I could be a blessing to this man. My search was in vain. In a store full of trinkets and treasures, I couldn't find a homeless man some thread. I went back outside where he and his dog were patiently waiting to tell him the news. He smiled and thanked me, and said he thought he might be able to find some at the dollar store up the road.

I thought about him all day. Why didn't I give him some money, offer to buy him a new sleeping bag? What's wrong with me?

Later on that week I saw him and his dog walking by McDonald's. In a split second I thought about stopping and going and buying him some lunch. I thought about how I would tell him God loves him and knows him by name. But I kept driving by. What's wrong with me?

I watched a movie last night where one of the characters was a deeply compassionate person. She felt every hurt of the people around her as if they were her own. Another character noted that her own father felt no emotion and if she had the choice between the two, she choose to feel it all. It made me think about how little I am sometimes moved, and how that is changing. I want to feel more.

I saw a teenage girl at a little fast food place I stopped at the other day and as I watched her the thought occurred to me that God loved her very much. And for a moment I entertained the notion of going up to her and telling her that God loved her and knew her by name. But I never went over there. You may think I'm silly for even thinking I should do that. But in that moment my heart felt very tender for that girl. I knew nothing about her, about the day she was having or what her life's circumstances were, but I knew in that moment that God wanted her to know she was loved and known by him. And I missed my chance to tell her so.

Sara Groves quoted Gary Haugen of the International Justice Mission in that documentary I watched not too long ago. I've been pondering those words lately. "In the times of the crushing of the innocent, in times of great despair, I used to ask 'Where is God?' But now my plea has changed. I no longer ask 'Where is God?' but 'Where are God's people?" Sara said that she decided the next time she wanted to run not walk to help her neighbors who were hurting.

There is something stirring inside me to do the same.

God of mercy and compassion, help me to Go. Cleanse me of self-absorption, fear and apathy. Wash me with your love, mercy and compassion, with your sense of justice, and then let me pour it out on the least of these. Forgive me for not doing so sooner. Amen.