Brian Castelli – With His Heart

On the last Friday of my visit to San Diego (See previous posts), I went looking for either Al or Ron. I hoped that my talking to them earlier in the week might make one of them more willing to accept my offer of help. Bible and cash in my pocket, I jogged the waterfront.

I passed many homeless folks. Some were there every day. Perhaps I should have visited them? There was a cluster of three homeless men who occupied the same group of park benches every day. (When I told my daughter this story, she asked, ‘Why didn’t you buy them a pizza and go eat with them?” Doh! Why didn’t *I* think of that?!!?)

I didn’t find Al. I didn’t find Ron. I was running out of time when I spotted a homeless man sleeping on a bench at the end of the marina. He had a dirty blanket wrapped tightly around him. His face was covered. On the ground at his feet were at least a dozen plastic grocery bags, no doubt filled with his possessions.

I ran by the man. He did not move. I ran back and stopped next to him. Still no movement. I placed the Bible and cash on top of one of his bags and ran on.

I pray that my anonymous gift has helped someone. My cool little Bible may be sitting at the bottom of San Diego bay, or it could be in the hands of someone hungry for God’s word. My hope is that it is the latter.

More fishing.

One sunny morning in San Diego, the day after I met Ron, I once again hit the pavement at dawn for a run. I was looking for Ron. I wanted to get to know him a bit and maybe earn his trust enough to convince him to accept my New Testament. I wanted to switch from hunter to fisherman.

As I ran, the scene was much the same. On Thursday morning, however, there was no sign of Ron.

I saw a black man in a dark sweatshirt and ball cap sitting on one of the park benches. He was feeding the pigeons that had gathered at his feet. He was giving them old pieces of cereal.

I sat next to Al, introduced myself, and asked him his name. Like Ron, Al acted as if I was not speaking to him at first. I’m convinced that they both are so used to being ignored that it took a bit for them to realize I was addressing them.

Al and I talked about fishing. He told me that he didn’t fish, but he’d never eat anything that came out of the bay. He asked me if I’d seen the sewage that people dump in there. I said that I hadn’t. I asked how the fancy restaurants in the area got away with charging so much money for polluted fish. He defended the restaurants, saying that they got their catch from deep sea fishing, not the bay.

Al has been in San Diego since 1991. He is originally from San Francisco. We had a great time talking until I asked him what his Thursday was going to be like. Then, like Ron, he started using evasive words in his sentences. I backed off, not wanting to “hunt”. I kept the New Testament in my pocket.

When we finished talking, I bade Al farewell and wished him a good day. I left with the idea that I could go looking for both Al and Ron on Friday…