The Watchman on River Street

Once a favorite stomping ground, it had been a while since my husband and I had been to Savannah, so we decided to take a little trip earlier in the year to this once much loved and frequented place. Prior to our going, a lot had happened in my life. The earth beneath my feet had shifted in several significant ways and I now know I was probably suffering from some form of depression that was the result of these losses in my life. And one of the ways this was presenting itself was by my feeling invisible. I was an “Un”: Unseen. Unnoticed. Unimportant. Or so I believed.

While there has always been homelessness in Savannah, when my husband and I stepped foot on River Street, it was obvious that it had risen to a whole new level. Sadly so. As we began walking, I found myself not knowing how to respond. Do I look them in the eye and give them dignity? Or does my look make them feel worse … especially since I have no “alms” to offer? Do I avoid eye contact all together making them feel even more unseen? It was a constant struggle within me. Some held signs. “Food.” “Beer.” Some just sat. And yet some were in small groups … talking, laughing, even playing some musical instruments … which brought an odd sense of jealousy as I longed for just that thing. But I was grateful they could find community even amid homelessness. 

But there was one particular individual who caught my attention. On our first afternoon stroll down River Street, he was sitting on a bench and was dressed in an old, gray and dirty suit with coat tails that were even long on his tall slender body. On his feet were orange patent lace up dress shoes … no socks. He held an umbrella, had a long graying beard and wore a floppy brimmed hat that hid his eyes. And with each trip up or down River Street, I would see him, always in a different location. In fact, on one occasion I came out of a shop on the “top side” of River Street, and when I descended the stairs to get down to the alley to take me back to River Street, there he sat on the bottom step. Head bowed. Motionless. I was never afraid, but by this time I was beginning to think, “This is getting weird.”

After several encounters, my husband and I were walking westward toward a very narrow section of sidewalk when I saw the man approaching. This time our proximity would be such that we would nearly touch each other in passing, and so I asked the Lord to let His presence in me “minister” to this man as we did. Oh, how arrogant I can be! For as we passed, within mere inches, the power in HIM nearly knocked me off the sidewalk. I turned around and wide-eyed asked my husband, “Did you feel that??” This man walked with such strength, such power, such energy, such stature, that all I could ask was, “What was THAT?”

After dinner on our last evening, Sandy and I took one last stroll down River Street. As we approached the far end just past the open air market, there he sat on a bench, hands propped on his umbrella. But this time was different. As I walked by, the man slowly raised his head and from under that worn brimmed hat was an AGELESS face … and eyes that looked directly into mine. I’m sure the encounter didn’t last more than a few seconds, but if I have ever experienced eternity, that was it. There was no “time.” And in that eternal moment, I knew I was seen down to the core of my being. The very thing I needed and longed for, the Lord had provided through a homeless man. A man that had nothing to give me but his eyes. Can I explain it? No. Can I be grateful for it? Absolutely. 

My husband and I made the loop around Savannah’s Waving Girl and headed back toward the hotel. Of course, I looked for the man as we approached the bench but he was no longer there. Rather a young woman wearing a tiara was standing on the steps of Joe’s Seafood having her birthday picture taken. I looked in the direction of the photographer across the street and there he was: positioned on his umbrella, standing behind the guy with the camera, just watching. I wanted to run to him, take his hands, and beg, “Who are you? Tell me your name!” But I continued on with the questions still lingering in my head, a smile on my lips, and a heart filled with gratitude. 

There are still times today when I feel invisible. An “Un.” But it only takes an earthly moment before I am reminded of that eternal one when I WAS seen by the watchman on River Street. And I give thanks to God: the One Who truly sees, knows and loves me … and you.

Just an ordinary moment.