My Shop Was a Resource

Dear Henry and Hannah,

This is one of those letters that you start writing a dozen times, then crush the paper and throw it in the bin, hoping that it will stay there, and the thoughts never resurface. However, since I rarely write with pen and paper these days, I pushed through despite many uncertainties, hoping this letter would raise awareness for some and provide much-needed help to others.

A few months after losing my job because of my faith, I opened a shop in my community.

After a few unfortunate incidents, I closed the shop and left the area as soon as I got a job in another part of the country.

Someone I considered a friend said that they knew that opening a shop was a bad idea from the beginning. Too bad I only learned this after the shop was closed. The shop was closed because unscrupulous people wanted to do the unthinkable. I preferred my life over the shop, so I closed it and left the area.

It’s now several years later, and I would not consider this venture a failure. Failure means different things to different people, and for most, it is the lack of financial success. However, there were too many lessons and experiences I have garnered, applied, and will continue to apply not just to business, finances, or even relationships, for me to consider my business venture a failure.

Perhaps in my other letters, I will share some of those lessons, but today I want to share an experience I had at the shop that leaves me torn between a rock and a hard place. I don’t think I will ever forget this experience, even though I wish I could forget some aspects of it.

I met quite a few people of all sorts of characters while operating my shop. I will cherish some for a long time, and I have learned to avoid others. Two of my favorite people were Sherry and Shawn. 

Sherry was the friend who lived nearby and kept me company for hours each day. I may write about Sherry another day, but in this letter, I will focus on Shawn.

Shawn was in his mid-30s, slim-built, and of medium height. He spoke with a slight stutter and always seemed keen. I can’t say exactly when he first came to my shop. Still, my first impression of him was that he was an intelligent, interesting person with qualities buried beneath his uncanny demeanor.

Shawn would walk past my shop around mid-morning and about 7 pm each evening. We were around the same age, but given my physique, I probably looked a bit more mature than he did. Our conversation started regarding religion, and maybe that was because my shop was closed early on Fridays and all day on Saturdays.

Even though Shawn was a Christian, he wasn’t going to church at the time. I asked why, and he had some pretty strong feelings about his church. Although we weren’t of the same denomination, I challenged him on his opinions. 

Realizing we could both hold our own on several topics, we grew a bit closer. Shawn would sometimes stop by briefly in the morning on his way to work, but more often in the evenings, which lent itself to longer discussions. 

Between those discussions, I learned a little about Shawn’s personal life. While I will not say much, he was married and had a family. His wife was doing well, living in another part of the country, and although he didn’t divulge the issues, it seemed they were separated.

Shawn and his wife were living two different lives, economically and otherwise, and I also got the impression he didn’t want the separation. 

Shawn had a small business not far from my shop, but it didn’t take much to see it was struggling. As hard as he tried to be discreet about his situation, separation from his family, coupled with his financial woes, took its toll on his self-esteem.

In our debates about going to church, the arguments I put forward were stronger, and even though Shawn conceded, he still wasn’t going. Because Shawn was a slightly strange man, it took more effort on my part than it would have for other people, but eventually he caved in.

Shawn wasn’t going to church because he didn’t have any shoes. I couldn’t believe it! All that talk, and perhaps some of it was genuine; the bottom line is Shawn was shoeless (at least where the church is concerned).

I want to pause here to highlight that some of the things we take for granted could be the very things preventing our members from showing up at church. We should not only notice them, but do something about them. 

We can convince ourselves that Shawn should have shown up under the moniker “come as you are.” Still, while we are at it, we should also admit that some of the most destructive critics, especially of struggling church members, are their own church brethren shouting “Hallelujah” in the pews beside them. 

Woe be unto those who use their tongues to wag people out of church.

I will hasten to add that this may not be the case with Shawn because, based on his demeanor, it may have been difficult to tell he needed help. He placed his best foot forward, and like all of us, he had a bit of pride. Shawn was struggling, didn’t have any shoes, and perhaps had other issues, which caused him to stop going to church. 

With this in mind, we must allow the Holy Spirit to lead us to who we are supposed to support, because sometimes the last person we think to give to is a young, smart-looking man like Shawn.

Shawn, not having shoes to go to church, opened my eyes to the reality of what others are facing, and because of that and another situation, I started a foundation to collect shoes for others. I will write a bit more about that in subsequent letters.

In some cases, I was sorry I pressed Shawn, but by then we had become friends, and he knew he could trust me.

You could tell from Shawn’s purchasing habits that things were getting increasingly difficult with his business. I also figured he was paying rent for his home and the shop. 

Some of the lighthearted discussions we had included Sherry, but she mostly sat quietly and watched us banter, much to her amusement. Sherry stayed outside the shop until I finished serving customers and could join her, but she was especially keen not to be inside when Shawn showed up. Shawn had become a bit more discreet and more conscious, and would only order what he needed when I was the only person in the shop. 

Life wasn’t easy for me either, because I was paying a mortgage on my home, the shop’s rent, and other responsibilities. But by the grace of God, I had some reserves. I was far from hungry, but trust me, if push came to shove, I would call my family members, some of whom would give without question. 

Shawn would buy some stuff, and while we were speaking, I kept meddling in his business. His purchasing power shifted drastically, and let’s just say that by God’s grace, the shop became a resource for him.

But knowing Shawn, he didn’t want to overdo it, so each time he cut back on the items for his dinner, even though I tried to assure him it was okay to take what he needed until he could pay. 

I particularly liked Shawn because, although he was separated, he respected his family and didn’t seem to be seeking an intimate relationship, so we could keep things platonic.

Shawn would wait until I closed the shop some nights, and since we lived in the same area, I would give him a ride and drop him off. I don’t know where he lived because he always insisted I drop him off there, and I didn’t insist because I understood he was a bit private.

Just one of the many clues I missed.

I would rather not say what Shawn got from my shop one evening, but when I enquired, he told me what he would eat that night and what would be left until the next morning.

Even though I told him that wasn’t enough, he insisted it would do, and we laughed it off as he said, “Remember, I don’t eat as much as you,” jokingly referencing the difference in our body sizes, prompting more laughter.

Looking back now, I realized that humor was a distraction to what was really going on in Shawn’s life. Frankly, I was probably too busy with my own life to realize that, unlike me, Shawn didn’t have food in his fridge at home, and what he had gotten from the shop was all he had.

I love to cook, and honestly, I can’t say that I’ve ever offered Shawn dinner or breakfast. Perhaps because of how he was, I never thought he would have taken it.

But knowing how I am, I would like to believe I asked him. 

While I can’t disclose certain details, I was perhaps satisfied with how I assisted him, aside from the grocery items.

As the months went by, I saw Shawn less often, and when I did, it was later than his usual mid-morning hours.

Very rarely, I would see him in the evenings, and in those moments, he was either apologizing for something, and I would be reassuring him that it was okay. 

I kept telling Shawn, “That’s how life was sometimes,” but I guess he was battling his inability to keep his word.

The banter between Shawn and I became less and less, but I didn’t mind that. I just wanted him to stop by for supplies, even if he didn’t want to talk with me.

I remember a couple of nights near closing time when I called Shawn and he said he was already home. Although Shawn didn’t pass by the way I could see him, I didn’t think he was hiding. I also didn’t want to keep calling because I didn’t want him to think the calls were just reminders of his obligations.

Shawn wasn’t hiding; his situation was just difficult. However, when it seemed he couldn’t do any better, he would stop by for limited supplies.

Fast forward, unscrupulous people started targeting me at the shop, and it trickled over to my home. I closed the shop, credited the grocery items and equipment to a new owner, was home for a little while, then got a job, and left the area quickly. I left the life I knew behind, including people and even the church I attended.

Truthfully, I cannot tell you anything about Shawn right now because, before I left the area, I couldn’t sleep at night because I was worried for my safety. Additionally, Shawn sometimes went to voicemail, and when he did answer, it was mostly him reassuring me that he would meet his outstanding obligations. I was tired of telling Shawn that wasn’t the reason I was calling, so to avoid making him uncomfortable, I stopped calling.

Almost two years after settling in my new community, in one of my few phone calls with Sherry, I asked her about Shawn. That’s when I learned that Shawn had passed away. He was found dead in his house about a year prior.

I couldn’t believe it, and even today, I can’t tell you how I feel. I asked Sherry what happened to him, and she said she doesn’t know. Neighbors smelled Shawn’s decomposed body and realized he had been dead in his house for some time.

An intelligent young man, filled with potential, an entrepreneur, albeit a struggling one, a husband, father, friend, neighbor, a church member, a child of God, died alone in his house.

This is terrible, and while I try not to blame myself because I had no choice but to leave, I knew the shop was a resource, and not just to Shawn.

Fast forward a few more years, and I was back in the area, and like me, two women were purchasing a service at a business. The ladies asked me for a ride close to their home, and since it wasn’t too far, I decided to take them all the way. On my way to their home, I passed the shop I used to operate. 

During the conversations, I asked them why they had to come all the way to that business, and they said that since the man who used to offer the service died, no one in their section of the community offered it. 

Fresh wounds were opened, and since they didn’t know me or know that I knew Shawn, I asked them what happened to the gentleman. The older lady said she didn’t know; all they heard was that he was found dead in his house.

No one knew if he had taken his own life, died of hunger, or died of sickness; no one knew anything. But the truth is, knowing how he died doesn’t change the fact that Shawn is no longer alive.

It’s not only that no one knew; it’s more like no one seems to care, including me. We are so consumed with our own lives that we forget to love our neighbors as ourselves. Matthew 22:36-40

Shawn was a young man who had fallen on hard times. He was a bit mysterious and strange, and probably didn’t know who to ask for help, or how, especially since he wasn’t from the area. Given how hard I had to work to earn his trust, it’s not difficult to imagine he wouldn’t readily tell people what he was going through.

Perhaps I am angry, but as I close this letter, here are some things I would like to say about the society, of which I am very much a part.

Shawn was separated from his family. Shawn’s wife is a public figure who was doing much better than he was. I don’t know what caused the separation, but I do know that society is more likely to support women when they are facing hardship.

Without denying that women are more likely to ask for help, had it been Shawn’s wife, she would have been helped.

We are oblivious to the suffering of young men because they seem to have everything together. We are also more likely to expect them to be working, seeking employment, or running a successful business.

But hardship doesn’t only come to women, the disabled, and old folks; young men like Shawn suffer in silence daily. Part of the reason they suffer is that, as I said, society is ignorant and even intolerant of a seemingly intelligent man who admits he is facing difficulties. 

After all, he is a MAN; he should be able to get himself together.

When we speak of the vulnerable, it is never about a 35 or 37-year-old man. It’s about women and children, people with disabilities, and old folks. A man in his 30s doesn’t fit the status quo of people who need support. While that may be so, it doesn’t change the fact that there are plenty of young men in Shawn’s shoes, or lack thereof.

Hindsight tells me that I could have collaborated with Shawn; the building I rented had areas that could have hosted Shawn’s business. That would have cut his shop rent. My location was even more ideal, and my customers could be his, and vice versa. Perhaps having a man there would have prevented me from being targeted.

Perhaps I could have offered Shawn home-cooked meals, which would not have cost him.

Here’s the truth: Shawn was married, and as a single Christian woman, genuine help could be mistaken as something else. Even if Shawn didn’t mind the help, the same people who didn’t know he was struggling, or even what caused his death, would have insinuated that there was an affair—a testament to our priorities.

Now, given that Shawn is dead, I honestly wish I had shattered those boundaries. Pushed past what I believe society would have thought and helped Shawn more. 

I wish I had pressed more. I wish I had called him more. I wish I had sent even anonymous packages to give him.

Anything other than wishing he wasn’t here.

While I would like to say I couldn’t have done anything better than leave the area, the truth is I failed Shawn. 

We love to say, but he has a wife. She should have helped him.

The truth is, Shawn wasn’t only his wife’s responsibility; he was all of ours.

His church, his community, you, and me.

While I’ve not even tried, no amount of persuasion could convince me that I had done enough. I did a lot, but I could have done so much more.

I also wish Shawn were more open to receiving. His pride prevented him from opening up about his struggles and taking more, and it was often a battle for me to get him to accept further help. Like so many of us, Shawn believed he had to clear his bills before receiving additional help. 

I wish we weren’t like that. As long as the person is trying their best, help shouldn’t stop because there are layers of unpaid help beneath; help should stop when the person no longer needs it.

Here’s my two cents to all of us. Whether or not we have a business, let us look out for our neighbors, the Shawns, in our communities.

They may be hard to spot, but they are there. Notice them, and ask God for the discernment to recognize who needs help, and help with dignity.

Men, hard seasons are not a crime. Despite what society says, as men, you are not expected to carry the world on your shoulders. Even the most successful men go through hard times, and I can guarantee that at some point in their lives, a friend, their parents, a mentor, or a spouse gave them a helping hand until they could get back on their feet.

As unfortunate as Shawn’s story is, may he be the last person to suffer the way he did.

Here’s my wish.

My so-called friend used to say that I shouldn’t own a shop because my heart is too soft. He was right, because what I didn’t tell you is that plenty of people who could pay took me, my products, and my money for granted, including that so-called friend. I leave them to the Lord.

But having owned that shop and learned so many lessons, I wish I could own another shop.

A shop where the goods were free of cost to the Shawns and the Shawnettes of this world. Those who can pay, pay, and those who can’t pay, we pray.

Since God is our only Source, I like to think that my shop was a resource. I hope yours is too, whatever your ‘shop’ is.

Henry and Hannah, I leave you with one of my favorite and fitting scriptures.

I have shewed you all things, how that so laboring ye ought to support the weak, and to remember the words of the Lord Jesus, how He said, It is more blessed to give than to receive. Acts 20:35

By God’s grace and mercy, may our giving be a part of the reason at least one Shawn remains alive today.

Until I write again, God calls all of us to be charitable. Will you answer that call?

While you answer that question, I continue to battle with this one: If my shop were still open, would Shawn still be alive today?

Your great, great, great, great-aunt,

P. A. Dawkins