“Whatever you do to the least of my brothers, you do for me.” Matthew 25:40

This article was recently written by the youngest of my five sisters, Caitlin Cleveland (age 20).  I hope it will touch your heart as it did mine:

Having recently left the college world of athletics, I settled into my new LSU home with a stack of new "friends." The first book on my list, The Irresistible Revolution by Shane Claiborne, is directly responsible for the following story:

I was driving down Highland one night with a couple hamburgers toward the Circle K where many of the homeless gather. My new friend Shane Claiborne had urged me from his pages to see Jesus in the least and to love them in a radical way. I felt compelled.

Walking along the road was Charles. I offered him a hamburger and asked him what else he might need.

“A shower,” he said, so I got him a room nearby at an inexpensive motel. We made plans to meet the next day at a local fast food place to talk about the issues he faces daily, why, and what a girl like me could do to help. We somehow missed each other that next day, but a month later, we nearly ran into each other.

We got lunch, talked, and he told me he couldn’t get a job without identification.  So we hopped in the car, went to the DMV, got identification, and within twenty-four hours Charles and I had found a job through family friends.

I’d pick him up around 6:45 a.m., and we’d work roughly four hours among beautiful Arabian horses. It was idyllic. We became buddies. We’d often venture to LSU’s all-you-can-eat buffet cafeteria for hours-long, multiple course feasts. If working in the dusty fields was work, seeing his joy and astonishment at such a bounty of food made it worth it, and I started realizing all I’d been taking for granted.

My sorority even pitched in to help. One of the girls donated a bike that would allow Charles to work longer hours separate from mine. He had purpose; and so did I. I couldn’t believe I’d passed up men such as Charles so often without thought, as if cultural bias alone were enough to justify a cold shoulder.

A week or two after things started rolling for Charles, I went to pick him up early for work and he wasn’t there. I later received a message from the parish prison and easily put it together. I wrote him, asked to be put on his visitor’s list, and eventually learned he’d been picked up for violating parole. For those of you who know my family’s story, you know prison is a large part of it. For this reason,I had no hesitation going in and felt peace in knowing our family’s pain could be transformed into a fruitful, loving empathy.

We met a few times before he was moved to Catahoula, too far for me to visit. I received frequent phone calls from him, looking to catch up. He even sent me a purple and gold necklace he’d had made with a cross on it as token of his appreciative friendship. We began writing as well, through which I shared my dad’s transformative prison experience. He wrote back, saying, “I have been doing a lot of praying and reading my bible in order to prepare myself for the outside world. Like you said, it’s time for a change. Time is and has passed me by in life and now it’s time for me to do something different with my life once I’m free, like serve God.”

His phone calls began to wane, however, which I contributed to a lack of money to buy calling card minutes. I started to worry but assumed he’d write soon enough. The morning of my last final, his sister called to tell me he’d died of pneumonia.

I was in shock and heartbroken at the news. I couldn’t believe a man of forty-eight could die so suddenly. But there was soon a peace. I knew the Lord had put me in Charles’ life to steer him on his last leg. It’s only now that I can see what Charles did for me.

Charles infused purpose back into my life. He taught me about mercy, compassion, and the thoughtless boundaries that separate us. He revealed Jesus to me, my neighbor whom I had let suffer invisibly on the wall’s other side.

When we look to the New Testament, we see Jesus’ love for the outcast. Is it too radical for us suburban American Christians to actually model His love? Why do we hide from Jesus in his most desperate and loving forms?

At His prompting, I let Jesus show me His face in a jolly, round, 5’2 former heroine addict who needed me. I now see that my soul needed him far more.