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![[David Gates]](../images/david.jpg)
SUBJECT: My Two Dead Friends
AUTHOR: David Gates, his wife Becky, and three of their five children - Katrina, Carlos, and Kristopher, work together in a medical aviation program in the jungles of Guyana, South America.
DATE: October 16, 1998
I think of my two dead friends now and then...and miss them. Neither was a friend at first, only two beggars, two street persons trying to survive. The first one, Patsy, had an attractive, thankful, personality about her, and I liked her right away. The second, Jimmy, I was sure for a long time, was definitely not a person I wanted for a friend. Besides being one of the most unattractive persons I have ever met, he had the irritating custom of was constantly wining and complaining.
PATSY
When I had first met Patsy, she had approached me as I got out of the car with my family to go into a small pizza restaurant in Trinidad. She was short and very thin, and appeared to be quite hungry. Since I rarely give beggars money, I promised to bring her out a bit of pizza if she promised to eat it. She smiled and appeared excited. The security guard at the door waited until we entered the restaurant and walked toward the little lady with a rather hostile attitude. Like a dog, afraid of being kicked, she quickly retreated across the parking lot, but not so far away as to loose sight of the restaurant door and our car.
Here in the Trinidad, where I was teaching computer science at the time, it was customary for businisess to hire to post security guards outside their main entrance to protect clients from the unpleasant experience of being accosted by street persons and beggars. Patsy, knowing the game, had stayed well away from the guard until the moment we got out of the car, and then approached us, betting that the guard would not risk the unpleasant scene of driving her away while she was talking to us. She was right. He kept eyeing our reaction to her, then decided to wait until we went in to chase her away. The gratefulness on her face was obvious as I handed her the one slice of pizza I had saved for her. "God is so good to send you today," she stated, "I was so hungry." "What is your name?" I asked, knowing that would give her significance. Having someone know you by name can be so encouraging to a street person. "Patsy." she responded, "and thank you so much for the food." I wished I had saved two pieces to giver her instead of only one. I had eaten 4 slices myself, plus something to drink. Her thankful attitude kept me thinking for quite a while.
During the next few months I ran into Patsy several times, and stopped to chat with her. Her conversation always centered on how thankful she was to God for taking care of her. I discovered she lived in a friends garage, sleeping on a small bench. She was 36, my age at the time, though she looked 65. She had AIDS, and frequently needed small amounts of medication to make her more comfortable. I bought her what she needed. "I am very scared," she said one day, "that my little daughter might also have HIV." She told me that her little daughter was living with a relative about 20 miles away. She wanted to get her tested, but didn't have the bus fare to take her to the hospital for testing. I paid the fares. We all thought a lot of Patsy and prayed for her. Her exuberance at discovering that her little daughter was HIV negative appeared to give her new energies. She lost her garage home and slept in an abandoned car for a while. Life was hard on the streets. She called us by phone now and then, only when desperate, asking for some food and other needs. At times, it was a bother for us, but we didn't let her see it. "Miss Becky is an angel" she told me one day about my wife. I agreed. When the car she slept in was towed away, she found another garage to sleep in, but could only occupy it when it was dark, and had to leave before 6:00am the owner had said. I learned that she had a daily relationship with Jesus, and as a small child depends on a parent, her every need was taken to and met by Him. No theology, just relationship. I discovered later she actually had grown up attending a Seventh-day Adventist church. I invited her to our week of prayer, and though she accepted, she never showed up when I drove to pick her up each day. She was too embarrassed, she told me later.
One evening as I was driving back home, I noticed Patsy on the street, and impulsively pulled over to chat and check on her. I offered her some Excedrine for some of her pains. As we spoke through the passenger window, I noticed Patsy kept looking around nervously. "It is a bad part of town," she told me. Another young lady approached me from the driver's side and said "Hi honey." She had seen me give Patsy some pills, and wanted some too. I ignored her for a while, but she kept pushing her head into the car, so I asked her to leave and rolled up my window. The girl, not willing to give up, walked around to the other side and edged Patsy aside. I was upset at the discourtesy, and told the girl that I was talking to my friend, and would not be interrupted like that. Patsy just stood back waving her hands, stammering, and somehow trying to get my attention. The girl quickly opened the door and started to get in. Suddenly Patsy jumped at her and tried to push the door shut. The girl struck her several times trying to get her to let go of the door so she could get in. Patsy wouldn't let go, but just kept mumbling something about "You can't do that to him." Seeing her get hurt, I was furious. I jumped out of the car, shouted at the girl to stop hitting her, forced her to let go of the door and asked Patsy to get in the car. Quite surprised that I would ask an old, sick, street person into my car, the young girl backed off, and we drove away. "I just..just..couldn't let that girl do..do...do that to you." she stuttered. "She is a tief and has a knife. She tiefs people all the time, and I couldn't let her do anything to a nice person like you." I was humbled as I saw tiny, thin, weak, Patsy stand in the line of fire, to protect me from harm. "Wasn't she a sort of an angel too?" I asked myself.
"Patsy died in the hospital by herself," I was told soon after by a street vendor who knew her. "Not by herself," I thought, "Her closest friend, Jesus, was there." Someday soon that friend will wake her up, and I don't want to miss that.
JIMMY
As I tried to enter the grocery store, a man stepped out in front of me. "Buy me something to eat. I haven't eaten in two weeks," he said. "Sure," I thought, "how can that be." The man had open sores all over his face, arms, and hands. The right side of his neck showed a large goiter, a swollen thyroid gland. His clothes were dirty, he smelled bad too. This certainly was not a very pleasant encounter. I listened to him, decided he was hungry for real, and promised to buy a little something for him. "I need bread, eggs, meat, and milk," he advised as I disappeared into the store. I was angry. What right did he have to dictate what I should buy for him? Food was expensive in Trinidad, and it took nearly all my salary to buy food for my wife and 5 kids. However, I relented, and decided that I would have done the same thing in his place. If you don't ask, you won't get.
"Will you drive me home?" he asked as I handed him the bag of food. He didn't even say thank you. I was angry again, but agreed when I discovered he lived along the same road I would be taking home. During the short drive, he kept complaining, and telling me how terrible life was, and how mean people were to him. I didn't want to hear any complaints. I had just purchased a bag of food for him, and I was in no mood to hear how terrible life was. "Your problem is that you are not thankful for what you have," I told him in a harsh tone. "But I am dying of AIDS. Why should I be thankful?" he protested. "You know Patsy?" I demanded. He nodded. "She too is dying of AIDS, but she certainly has a beautiful attitude. I suggest you go look her up and find out how she does it. Maybe you can learn to be happy and thankful like she is." I didn't feel good about my outburst as I dropped him off. But I was still angry.
As with Patsy, Jimmy frequently kept an eye open for us, and would come over to gripe and complain, begging for some kind of help with food, medication and the like. Sometimes he lied and tried to manipulate us. I tried giving him a Bible study on salvation one Sabbath, but he couldn't concentrate more than 5 minutes, so I gave up. However, over the next year, Jimmy began changing. He never complained any more. He kept thanking God for this and that. He was getting worse physically, but was certainly becoming a more pleasant individual. On several occasions, I stopped by his little house just to sit on the sidewalk for half an hour to chat. Wealthy neighbors of mine commented several times that they had seen me talking with the AIDS man on the sidewalk. I was surprised at the impact that made on them. While coming home by taxi one day, I spotted Jimmy walking along the road, and asked the taxi driver to stop just one second so I could give him some medication money. The driver seemed impressed that I would take the interest, and commented how Jimmy had changed so much lately for the better.
Seeing how Jimmy had gotten so "lucky" by finding some good friends, another street person attacked Jimmy and struck him many times with an iron, and stole some food I had given him. As if his open wounds were not enough, he now was suffering from the beating he had received. "Life is very difficult on the streets," Jimmy told me slowly. I nodded, wanting not to think to much about it because of the pain empathy could bring. "But I have forgiven him already. God has helped me to do that." he explained.
Frequently Jimmy would pick some flowers and give them to me to take home to my wife. "She is such a friendly and kind lady. She reminds me of an angel," he confided. I agreed. When we left Trinidad and moved to Guyana, I got to see Jimmy only once or twice a year, when I visited Trinidad. Jimmy was getting visibly worse. He was in the hospital almost every week now for some kind of treatment. The prescriptions he needed went unfilled due to lack of money. I helped him when I stopped by to visit. "I wish I could see Miss Becky one more time," he told me. I let him know that within one month, I was planning on bringing her and the children to Trinidad, on the way to the US. I promised to stop by. We had prayer, and the I left.
"He died two weeks ago," we were told without regret by his neighbors. "He died alone in the hospital." They had no idea where he was buried, and didn't care. Like Patsy, I was sure he had not died alone. I wonder if Jimmy and Patsy will recognize each other at the resurrection. If not, I'm sure their mutual friend Jesus will introduce them. I invite you not to miss it.
In His Service,
David Gates
You may send E-mail to David at:
gates@andrews.edu or
GAMAS@solutions2000.net