Roscoe

A phone call tonight reminded me of a story I wanted to share from the weekend. Sunday night I met a man named Roscoe…he approached me as I walked through the door for our church service. A black man, he wore a nice suit and some new shoes, and looked like he needed some help. I could smell alcohol on his breath. He shared some of his story: he was 38, an only child (or else his siblings were outside his life now), and had received news from Louisville that morning that his mother (in her late 70s) had died of an apparent heart attack while sitting at an intersection in her car. He needed $21 to be able to buy a bus ticket to Louisville that was leaving in 45 minutes. He was self-conscious about his new shoes, saying he’d bought them the day before for $85…before receiving the news. I asked him to wait in the hallway while I asked around for some help.

I wondered if he would walk out when I hadn’t immediately helped him, but believed that instead he would actually engage others and wait for me. I asked around, knowing that everyone has their story, especially in the realms of homelessness and hard times, yet for some reason trusting that perhaps this guy was telling the truth. Well, I walked back to him and handed him a handful of bills—I don’t even know how much it was—and talked with him some more. He said he wanted to pay me back, and when I said to just put it in the offering sometime, he said he’d pay me back AND put it in the offering. I told him we’d just like to see him again and hear more about his life.

He said he was a poet, and I responded by saying we could use another poet in our midst. Though he had a speech impediment, he started into a poem he’d written about the story of the fiery furnace in the old testament. For a couple of minutes, he recited this simple yet profound poem, emphasizing the crucial moments in the story revealing God’s faithfulness and the miraculous events as well. I was surprised and smiled. I told him he’d better go if he indeed needed to catch the bus in—now 30 minutes. Before he left, he shared another poem about children…one I’d love to write down if I see him again.

I’ve been thinking about him all week. I wondered if I’d see him again, hoping I would. This afternoon I received a call from Craig, our pastor. He said a guy named Roscoe had found him at the church office and wanted to give a report from his journey and say thank you. I’m still smiling…and I hope to hear more poetry soon.