A Book Review

I don't usually do book reviews, because I'm not a very analytical reader by nature--I usually just read for something to do. And I'm not very good at simultaneously summarizing and conveying the personal impact of what I read. But I'm going to give this a go anyway (apologies if it sounds like something an 8th grader might write--I'm a little out of practice).

I recently read a book called Breakfast At Sally's that made me really think about how quickly I judge people that I don't even know, and how I treat people.
The book is a true story about Richard LeMieux, a man who owned a publishing company that fell on hard times and finally went bankrupt. Richard eventually finds himself severely depressed (though it would be a couple of years before he gets an actual diagnosis), divorced, evicted, estranged from his kids, left with only an old van, a few clothes and a faithful little dog named Willow.

Richard describes the people he meets (homeless or otherwise) while living out of his van in Bremerton, Washington, and the impact each has on his life. He spends a year and a half living out of his van, generally going to breakfast at the Salvation Army (Sally's), then spending the rest of his day in the library (to stay out of the Washington weather), or driving around. Sometimes he meets up with his friend C (that's all he's known as), sometimes he gives someone a ride to somewhere they need to go, sometimes he just drives. He gets dinner where he can, usually at one of the local churches that set up meals for the needy.

One day he goes with C to one of the camps where some teenagers live. Many of the teens have run away to escape abusive situations, some have been kicked out. While Richard and C are there visiting, a lady named Helene stops by to bring the teens lunch. She explains that a lady had helped her son when he had run away; taking food to him every day, and eventually telling him to go back and make things right with his mom. Helene just wanted to do the same for someone else's son or daughter. So she often brought lunch to the kids camping in the woods outside of town. I was amazed at Helene's kindness, and how loving she was toward these kids she didn't even know; she didn't judge them, she just gave them what she could--a warm meal and a listening ear.

After 18 months on the streets, and during a week of the worst weather anyone can remember, Richard is fortunate to meet Pastor Earl, who gives Richard some money to get a hotel room. The next morning, Richard goes back to the pastor, partly to say thanks, and partly to ask for some gas money. The pastor invites Richard and Willow to sleep on the couch in the church basement until the rain stops or they can figure something else out. He encourages Richard to help himself to anything in the fridge, and asks Richard to make sure the lights are out at night and the doors locked. Richard goes to talk to Pastor Earl in the morning, and the conversation had me in tears.

It isn't a spoken conversation. Rather, Richard opens his soul to the kind pastor, and communicates his fears, his worries, his burdens. The pastor then communicates to Richard his unconditional love for him as one of God's children, and his desire to help Richard in any way possible. The pastor makes a few phone calls (with real words) and arranges for Richard and Willow to become the night security guards at the church. Richard sleeps on the couch in the church basement for nine months, then with the help of Pastor Earl and his wife, Richard and Willow publish the book and get an apartment.

Richard tells his story so honestly, without blaming anyone for what happened to him. I found myself completely immersed in the book and finished the whole thing (430 pages) in a day and a half--it helped that all the kids were sick and pretty much slept for most of that day and a half so I found myself with some free time.

When I finished the book, I wanted to donate a bunch of stuff to the Salvation Army so they could give it to someone who needs it. I wanted to treat people better. I can't give money to every panhandler that I see, but I can give them the dignity of looking them in the eyes. I can stop judging them; I don't know their story, but I know that God loves them anyway.