“Todd” is a homeless gentleman with a kind face; he is tall, young-ish (40s, maybe?) with sun-baked skin and salt and pepper colored, well-behaved, not-too-short, layered ringlets. He keeps to himself and once occupied the northwest corner of a busy intersection here in our town. But I’ve never seen him hold up signs, ask for anything or approach cars at the red light; instead, he sits on a utility box, sometimes paces along the sidewalk as he converses the invisible ones who are his reality, appearing oddly content with things as they are, as when one believes things are the way they always will be….

Like any city many corners here include citizens holding cardboard signs about needing gasoline or work or food or money… Todd does not hold any signs; he is one of the forgotten, a mentally ill citizen who is on his own and no longer the State’s problem once he’s out of the mental health system.

In 10 years, Todd has never not been around. He moved to a particular off-ramp about a mile or two away from the corner and spent a couple of years there, then made that northwest corner his place again. His dependable presence convicts me of those silly, gripey Alexa-centric moments I am so prone to allow in my thought life.

As expected, there he was on that northwest corner as we ran errands one day. My oldest daughter felt moved to give him all the money she had — $5.00. We were not in the lane nearest the sidewalk and it was the lunch hour rush, so we circled the block and came back around to give him what she had. While we circled, she decided his name was “Todd,” so that is what we call him now; she said he just looks like a “Todd.”

Only…when we came back around, Todd was gone. He was nowhere to be found. He disappeared in less than a minute. I know this sounds dramatic, but it really happened this way. We drove around another 10 minutes looking for him in the area. “Oh, well. We’ll catch him next time we’re over here,” I finally said.

He was not there the next time. Or the time after that or the time after that. She saved her money yet never found him to put it in his hand.

No trace of him: not his backback, his silver ringlets, his tall frame..no people matching his description. We haven’t seen Todd since that day in March, nearly four months ago, neither at his old corner or the offramp.

My daughter thinks he was a messenger of God of sorts, and I’m not certain I disagree. I may not understand what the message is, but I know my God is bigger than any box I could ever create. Maybe we were just to be willing to give all we had. Jesus can do a lot more for Todd, whom He loves, with that willingness than even Todd could do with $5.00.

© Alexa Lopez 2008