Between the Roots are Routes

Between the Roots has me thinking a lot lately about routes. Not just roads or sidewalks, but those little changes in direction during a day. The moments when I know where I am going and know the easiest way to get there, but something changes. Sometimes I choose another route. Sometimes I just feel like I should be somewhere else. And sometimes I simply forget to make the turn. The Forgotten Turn That happened to me the other day. I missed a turn and had to go back, and because I did, I ended up stopping and talking with a woman I might otherwise have passed. We started talking about changing her life, finding something she was passionate about again, and having something she could actually work toward. As she talked, someone came to mind who might be able to help her take that passion a little further and possibly turn it into something real. Had I remembered the turn, I would have simply kept going where I intended to go. Instead, I forgot, turned around, and a conversation happened that would not have happened otherwise. The Alley Usually by the time I am heading home from the soup run, there is no soup left. That night was unusual. I still had a few cups, and if nobody wanted them, they were going to end up in the garbage when I got home. My usual route takes me farther up the street and through a gravel back alley. For whatever reason, that night I turned one block early and took a paved alley instead. By then I was already in homeward-bound mode. I was still watching the people around me, but my mind had started moving toward getting home. I passed a couple tucked off to the side and almost did not notice them. Then I remembered the soup. The soup that was going home only to be thrown away. So I stopped and went back. That stop became more than finding someone for the last few cups. While I was there, they asked if I had clean harm reduction supplies. I had just started carrying them, and that night was the first night, but I had already run out of what they needed. I could not help with that part that night, but now I knew the need was there. If there had been no soup left, I probably would not have stopped. If I had taken my normal gravel alley, I would not have passed them at all. At the time, it was just a different alley and a few cups of soup that did not need to become garbage. Later, it would matter. D&D The next day I went to learn to play D&D at a local store where a lot of my crafts get sold. That was the plan, and there was nothing wrong with being there, but once I arrived it just did not feel like where I was supposed to be. I cannot really explain it better than that. Staying would have been the easiest choice because I was already there and had gone there for a reason. But I left. Road or Park From there, the quickest way home was straight down the road. Instead, I decided to take the scenic route through the park. Again, there was no great reason for it. The road was shorter, quicker and easier, but the park was where I felt like going. That choice changed everything that came next. A Different Path In the park I saw a homeless guy I knew from there. I knew his routine and where he usually travels. Had I stayed at D&D, he would have been getting a meal, but instead there he was. He was on a different path, so I waved and said hello as I went by. He could have waved back and kept going, and I probably would have done the same. Instead, he stepped off his path toward me like he wanted to talk. So I stopped. We talked for a while, and I got to hear more of his story. What stayed with me was how much his own choices mattered to that story. His life did not look the way most people might expect it to, but there was thought behind the way he was choosing to live it. He had made choices about what mattered to him and what kind of life he wanted, and those choices were helping him move toward that in his own way. His choice was not because of tragedy, bad decisions, or health. It came from a real situation he is able to live with now so that he can live better later. Even that conversation started with a choice. He chose to step off his path. I chose to stop on mine. If either of us had simply kept going, we would have passed each other with nothing more than a wave. Another Wave Eventually we went our separate ways and I continued through the park. Because I had taken that route instead of the straight road home, I had to pass another place where a group of people were gathered. One of the women saw me and waved. So I stopped again. The Soup They knew me from the soup run and started telling me how much they appreciated the soup. That meant a lot because most Fridays I make it, load everything up, go out, serve it and eventually come home. I do not always know what gets said after I leave or what those small moments mean to somebody else. Apparently, people were talking about it. And then the conversation changed. What She Remembered The woman remembered that I had started carrying harm reduction supplies. Just before I came along, she had been asked if anyone had some clean supplies. She knew I carried them. And I had the right two kits. Still With Me I had not completely unpacked after the soup run the night before. Normally those kits would have been taken out and stored at home until next Friday. Instead, they were still with me. So I gave them to her. I would much rather they be there, where they could get to somebody who needed them, than sitting at home waiting until the next Friday to come around. The Routes Between the Roots That is when I started looking back at the route. Every choice was still mine to make. I could stay, leave, take the quicker road, keep moving, or stop. But each time there was a pull toward something that was not the quickest, shortest, or easiest choice. Usually, it led toward a person. Maybe faith is not always knowing where the route leads. Sometimes it is simply feeling that pull, choosing to follow it, and loving whoever you meet along the way. Because between the roots are routes. And sometimes you only see why you took them after you arrive.