I spent the day with Scooter yesterday.
He'd been anticipating his court date for two months, alternating between thoughts of running and accepting a sentence that would give him "3 hots and a cot" (prison slang for 3 meals a day and a bed to sleep in, more reward than punishment for those on the street).
Even on the final day he was vacillating, and the torment drove him to pick up a beer after trying to sober up for court.
The second thing I did when I met him by the store was to encourage him to go.
The first thing was to kick the beer over.
(Only for those I love would I do such a thing. The results would be akin to me pulling steak out of my dogs' mouths mid-chew. Not wise!)
But Scooter wanted help. He reminds me of the student who misbehaves just to keep the teacher's attention.
We went to lunch, then Walmart to get the requisite white shirt and socks allowed in the jail.
Scooter is what's known as a frequent flier in the county jail.
By the time we arrived for afternoon court, he was distraught. The charges weren't great: trespassing and a contempt of court. Plus old fines. Life on the streets usually amasses a few trespassing, loitering, and public drunk charges and Scooter has been homeless for almost ten years.
Fines can be reduced by serving time and he figured it'd take 3 months to serve off all his fines. It worked out well, he realized, that he'd serve it during the coldest months of the year.
I sat next to an oft-emotional man who was finally facing his life choices. When he got out of jail he was going to get things together, he decided. Go back to his wife, sober up, meet the grandkids.
An hour in, his name was called.
How do you plead?
Guilty.
But the judge didn't want to remand him to jail just because he walked on the property of a store owner having a bad day.
So he let him go.
The court officer leaned over and said to me, "He's been out there a long time."
I whispered back, "He's going to die out there. Why is he just letting him go?"
I knew why. I think this judge and I have similar hearts. I've spent many days in his courtroom and I've seen his compassion.
But what now?
Scooter came out, bewildered. Part of me wondered if some part of him was looking forward to winter on the inside.
He still has no home, his last campsite destroyed by recent floods. His current abode is a vacant barber shop.
I wonder sometimes if it makes me an accessory to know where homeless guys are encamped if they are breaking and entering.
It doesn't really matter, though.
On the way to court Scooter asked me why I cared so much. About him, about all of them.
I wasn't sure I even knew the answer.
Yes, I'm doing what the Lord has led me to do. But that isn't all.
I love them. I care about them.
Deeply.
Years ago I prayed to have a heart like His.
Maybe this is just a taste of how strongly He feels about His children.
I need to remember this so the next time I'm asked, I'll have an answer.
I love, because He loved.
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