The main library in El Paso is a mere 15 blocks from my place, so I've made a habit of spending a couple of hours a month there. While these hours are usually around the time that a research project is due, today I came here for the internet, so I could make some phone calls and skype with friends. The library is spacious, with a main area, computer lab, and art display on the first floor, Spanish section downstairs, teen and kids books upstairs, and every once in a while I'll hear an announcement about which movie is next in the free theater (I have yet to see or find out where the theater is, but I'm sure it's in the building somewhere).
As the library only opens at ten in the morning, I've often gotten here before the doors open without realizing the time. Every morning it seems as though a small crowd gathers outside the doors on the benches and structures. The conversations I've overheard as I wait range from where to get weed, to how to give stitches. There are people from med school, and people on parole, moms with their children, homeless people trailed by their cart of belongings, and this morning there was a drunk.
I got to the library half an hour early this morning, having failed to get a good connection at the coffee shop. When I arrived, there was a man eating his breakfast and feeding the flock of pigeons, a mother pacing with a stroller, and an older man hunched over on a bench. I took a seat in the sun on a ledge by the stairs, enjoying a warmth and the fresh air. A young man sauntered up and stood staring absentmindedly at the pigeons. He was followed shortly by his friend, and they stood there listening to music and throwing out the intermittent comment. The young mom walked off to the other side of the block, and she was passed by an middle-aged man weaving up the walk. The man came straight toward me, stuck out his hand, and introduced himself as Chris. He told me we had met before, and asked if I was ok before turning around and heading over to talk with the young men on the other side of the walk. I was surprised by his greeting, slightly overwhelmed by the alcohol on his breath; and I was glad he had moved on to talk to the others. No one had talked to me at the library other than Albert, the older security guard, and I wasn't sure how to take this encounter.
As I was wondering what had just happened, the man finished greeting the others and turned my direction. Leaning against the ledge beside me, Chris proceeded to spend the next 20 minutes asking me questions, telling me not to call him sir, and trying to find every way to compliment me and find similarities in interests all the while assuring me that he wasn't hitting on me. Thankfully for me, I also have the ability to ask questions and make conversation without saying much myself, so I enjoyed the challenge of it (don't worry mom, there were lots of people around us, it was bright outside, and the man learnt quickly that I did not like any more contact than a handshake).
Though I felt relieved when the library doors finally opened, looking back on it, I wonder if there could have been any way to somehow communicate God's love to this man. Or maybe by just taking the time to take an interest in his life (even if just to direct his attention away from asking me questions) he was able to find a bit of hope.
One thing I'll take away from it though, the people who hang out before library hours are pretty cool. I could tell that they were watching to see what would happen as this man approached me and they seemed as uncomfortable with the situation as I felt. And when another guy showed up, he seemed to assess the situation, and he joined our conversation, introducing himself as Zach, and he kept the man's attention until the library opened.
Looking back, though it was uncomfortable, God was watching out for me not only in keeping me protected, but also giving me an 'in' with this group of people who I've been around but never had excuse to talk to before.
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