The Homeless Angel

Written by Jacqueline Overpeck

“Volunteers. We need volunteers!” My pastor’s voice clapped with conviction.

I sat in the back of the church and watched as the shuffle began. Young people got up from their seats, and took their places under signs that read: “Nursing Home,” “Hospital Visitation,” and “Coffee House.”

My friend Alyssa and I made our way over to the Coffee House group. The community outreach leader was passing out directions to the downtown location. I prayed beneath my breath:

Lord, this type of outreach is not familiar to me, but I know that it is familiar to you. Please help me express your love to someone special who needs it. Amen.

The dirt parking lot outside the coffee house was full as Alyssa and I pulled up. A long line of people stood outside waiting for the dinner bell to ring. Warmth swept over me. All these people are hungry. Hungry, right here in my hometown.

Are you here to serve?

Alyssa and I entered the Coffee House through a ripped screen door. A few modest-sized rooms greeted us inside: a kitchen, a dinner hall, and a make-shift meeting area. I watched as busy women placed dinner rolls on large silver platters in the kitchen. Meanwhile, men rushed about setting up mix-matched folding chairs in the direction of a beat up piano.

A tall man in a denim shirt greeted Alyssa and I. “I’m Dan. Are you here to help serve?”

We nodded, yes. He turned towards the kitchen. “Follow me.”

Before I had a chance to ask what to do, a woman with a net scarf on her head slid a serving spoon into my hand.

“Two spoons of beans per person,” she said. Her voice was strong and centered.

I looked down the serving bar: bread, meat, salad, vegetables, macaroni and cheese, and there before me sat the largest bowl of pork and beans I’d ever seen in my life. I stirred the beans as I looked out the front window. The long line of hungry people continued to grow.

A clock on the wall chimed seven, and Dan unlocked the door. A steady stream of people of all races and ages entered. Each person smiled with appreciation as they walked through the food line with their paper plates extended. I served two large portions of pork-n-beans to each person. A sense of purpose like I’d never felt before filled my heart.

An elderly woman stood in line. I asked, “Are you doing well today?”

Her face was wrinkled and she appeared to be in her mid-70s. She looked like someone’s grandma. Her clothes didn’t match, her shoes were worn, and her hair was unkempt. Yet, her eyes held a subtle and alluring glow.

“Yes, I’m doing very well, dear.” She answered with a crackled voice.

I spooned two helpings of beans onto her plate, and she passed by.

“Can I help you carry something?” I asked.

She didn’t say a word. She simply handed me her plastic lemonade glass.

What was she doing here?

My heart broke as I followed her over to a table. How had this gentle grandma ended up here – hungry and homeless?

“I’m Jackie,” I said.

“I’m Margaret,” she replied.

“Are you here alone?” I asked.

“Yes, my husband died. We never had any children. It’s just me.” She lifted her sloppy joe sandwich to chapped lips.

Conversation continued around the dinner table where Margaret sat. “Supper’s good tonight, isn’t it Mama?” the man across the table said to Margaret as he sopped up some sauce with his dinner roll.

Another man bit into a doughnut, “Yeah, but I bet Mama knows how to cook better vittles than this.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Margaret was having dinner at a mission house, yet she continued to reach out like the mother in a family to those around her. Margaret was a glowing figure of God’s hope despite her difficult circumstances.

Half an hour later, Margaret sat at the front of the meeting room where a worship service was scheduled to begin after everyone was done eating.

“Can my friend Alyssa and I sit with you?” I asked.

“Yes, I would like that.” Margaret said.

The worship leader began to play the old piano, plunking out tunes. Margaret lifted her head and sang the hymns as if she’d spent her entire life going to church. Her face lit brightly as she worshipped God.

Tears filled my eyes as I considered the purity of Margaret’s heart.

I whispered into Alyssa’s ear. “I have an idea. I want to get a gift for Margaret. Would you mind saving my seat?”

What was I doing, here?

I quietly slipped out the back door of the coffee house, got in my car, and headed for the closest store that I could find. I was unfamiliar with the downtown area so I settled for a nearby convenience store. I searched for something special to give to Margaret. Then, I saw it sitting beside the cash register—a long-stem, red rose. I quickly purchased the rose and headed back to the Coffee House.

Margaret continued to sing with broken voice: I need Thee, O I need Thee; Every hour I need Thee; O bless me now, my Savior, I come to Thee…

I presented the rose to Margaret. “This rose is for you Margaret. I want you to know how special you are to God.”

Margaret’s wrinkled hands reached out, not only for the rose, but for me too. She held me tight and cried. She clutched the rose to her chest for the remainder of the service. Then, she gave me a final hug and walked away.

Margaret may never know what an angel she is and how she reveals something of Heaven on Earth that cannot be told, but only seen. Sometimes I hear people reason about angels and question whether or not they are real.

I saw a real angel—a hungry and homeless angel. Her name is Margaret, and the hope she had in her heart despite hardship brought Psalm 119 to life:

Sustain me according to your promise, and I will live; do not let my hopes be dashed. Uphold me, and I will be delivered; I will always have regard for your decrees (verses 116-117, NIV).

Have you ever reached out to help serve a meal in your community or been on a mission trip? What amazing things did you experience as you shared God’s love with others?