There's an old saying many of us have heard before: "One man's trash is another man's treasure." Most of the time, we say it casually. Almost as a joke. But sometimes life has a way of reminding us that those words carry a much deeper meaning.
Earlier this morning, I was sitting in my car waiting for the gym to open. The morning was quiet, the kind of quiet many of us appreciate before the day gets busy. As I sat there, I noticed three people walking along the sidewalk: a man, a woman, and an older individual with a noticeable limp.
At first, nothing seemed unusual. But after watching for a moment, it became clear they were homeless. The bags they carried told that story before a single word was spoken.
The younger man stopped at each trash can along the sidewalk. Carefully, he lifted the lid and looked inside. Then he moved to the next one. And the next.
Eventually he found something, leftover food someone had thrown away. He placed it on a tray he was carrying, alongside what looked like a drink from a nearby convenience store. And that's when I realized something important.
He wasn't looking for food just for himself. He was collecting food for the others walking with him.
When he finished, the three of them continued down the sidewalk, turned the corner, and disappeared from view. And I sat there for a moment trying to process what I had just seen.
Now, for many of us who spend time downtown, seeing homelessness is not unusual. It's something we pass by every day. But seeing someone quietly search through trash bins for uneaten food is different. It forces you to pause. It forces you to reflect.
Moments like that remind me of my childhood. When I would visit my father growing up, his home was often a gathering place for all kinds of people. They would sit out in the yard talking for hours while my brother, sister, and I rode bikes and played nearby. Many of those people had difficult circumstances in their lives.
We also spent time downtown at the small park across from the courthouse. That park was a gathering place for many homeless individuals. My father knew many of them by name.
As a child, I was never afraid. I just didn't fully understand. But growing up in church also taught me something that stayed with me my entire life: a person's value is never determined by their circumstances. A person's value comes from the simple fact that they are human.
This morning reminded me of that lesson. Because behind every statistic about homelessness is a human being. Someone's son. Someone's daughter. Someone's neighbor.
Now let me be clear: there are no simple solutions to challenges like homelessness. It's a complex issue that involves housing, mental health services, employment opportunities, and community support.
But I do believe this. I believe there is always a better way for communities to respond to human needs.
There must be ways for county government, city leadership, nonprofits, and faith-based organizations to work together more effectively. Not operating in silos. Not duplicating efforts. But coordinating resources so people have access to basic necessities like food, shelter, and services without being reduced to scavenging for what others have thrown away.
Because when we help people meet their most basic needs, something important happens. Our community becomes stronger. Our community becomes healthier. And our community becomes more humane.
For me, leadership begins with paying attention. Noticing the moments others might walk past. And asking a simple question: What can we do better?
That is what community-first leadership looks like. It starts by seeing people. And it continues by working together to ensure that every member of our community is treated with dignity.