Who do you see? How will you vote?

On Sundays, a local community group in Terre Haute, Indiana, where I live, gathers at a park for a potluck picnic. We invite anyone in the area to come for a meal and some community time. A few months ago, we were in the midst of our normal meal when a sudden commotion broke out around the table and the water cooler was thrown to the ground. 

We quickly saw that a puppy had gotten his leash tangled around the table, gotten excited about something, and knocked some items off the table. The puppy's owner quickly dropped his food, took his puppy away, and loudly scolded the puppy while those of us still under the shelter simply picked up the water.

The man calmed down and came back, but he was clearly deeply troubled. "I ruined everything," he said, and "He’s got to learn." The man is homeless, and it's hard for him to keep track of what day it is and when to come for food at the park. He said he hadn't eaten in 10 days. A few people in the group spent some time with him, assuring him that we welcomed both him and the dog, that nothing was ruined. 

About a month later, during a local political event, I saw the dog owner walking through a different park, all his belongings in a shopping cart. At this event, they were serving a simple bean meal. I stepped away, chased him down, and offered to get him some beans. This time, he shared that his dad had just died and that he was facing all kinds of claims from his family that he only came around for the money, all while grieving because he hadn't been told his dad was dead until after he'd been cremated. I hugged him, talked with him, let him cry, and made sure he got some food. 

Sometimes I see the man around town; he is still unhoused. His gentleness made an impression on me.

I spent the last seven years working for Network Catholic social justice lobby, in the world of federal policy. For nearly five of those seven years, I lived in Terre Haute. Though I didn't walk the halls of power regularly like many of my coworkers, living in Indiana helped me stay connected to the very reason for my political engagement: people like the unhoused man who came to our community meal.  

Thanks to the communities I've been a part of and their faithfulness to the work, I've been able to join the Sunday picnics when I can and step away when I need to. This helps me stay connected to real people and their real stories. I've heard firsthand from people whose only income was food stamps — because nobody can get disability for having cancer. I've listened as people share that their Social Security doesn't cover their basic needs anymore, as rent, utilities and grocery costs keep going up. These aren't theoretical problems; they're the experience of too many people who are forced to endure.