The voice said “God bless you.” I hadn’t sneezed nor put a dollar in the Salvation Army kettle. I wasn’t sick. I hadn’t just hugged a great-aunt, nor unexpectedly done something downright adorable. I mean really, who says “God bless you” without a prompt?

In my experience, it’s the homeless. (Or at least those I assume to be homeless.) The smallest gesture – a smile, a dollar bill, an opened door. A tiny box of raisins elicits a blessing.

I could tuck a dollar under each keyboard in the office. I could hand out tiny boxes of raisins to everyone at the Homeowner’s Association. I could hold the door open and smile as chilly folks hurry in for the Christmas party. Most likely I’d get a slightly puzzled “thank you.” But not a “God bless you.” Not that I’d expect it, and if I did, some might find it an opportune time to engage in debate about the existence or form of God.

The hungry don’t seem have time for that. Perhaps there’s  a presumption that when goodness comes out of nowhere, there must be a God to be thanked. There’s an exchange between human beings – You give me the leftover airline pretzels; I give you a blessing.

I learned first in Bucharest that you always ask the waiter to box up the meal leftovers. Not because you planned to take them back to the hotel. But because on the way in you noticed people sitting on the curb outside the restaurant. Waiting. “God bless you.” The same thing in Guatemala’s colonial Antigua. “God bless you.” In Albuquerque it’s the busy intersection of I-25 & I-40, where you can spot the grocery carts under the bridge overpass. If the stoplight timing is right, you can hand that complimentary bottle of water thought the window. “God bless you.”

Closer to home (so very close to home) there is Danny. He used to be “the post office guy,” until I asked his name. I’ve seen him, on and off, for months, maybe years. But honestly, I wasn’t looking and I only saw him when I couldn’t help but see him. He holds a sign that reads “Hungry. Please Help.” Sometimes he stands, sometimes he sits on the ground. He doesn’t approach anyone. In fact, he doesn’t say a word. He’s just there. I don’t know why. I don’t know if he’s a scamming millionaire. But in the weeks before Christmas it occurred to me that he might be Jesus. So, I got brave. I pulled out a five and rolled down the window.

Quickly on his feet, he took the money, saying “You are so awesome. Thank you. God bless you.”

Four days later with Christmas boxes to mail at the post office, I cringed when I saw him there again. I mailed the boxes and pulled out another five dollars. This time, he waved as I drove up. “I remembered you,” he said. “So, I see,” said I. “God bless you.” “God bless you too, Merry Christmas.” (Which sounded hollow as the words came out of my mouth.)

Remembering advice from a friend, I was better prepared the next time. “Keep a baggie of goods in the car, so when the need appears you have something to give.” I handed him a baggie filled with a snack pack of Goldfish crackers, a little box of raisins, leftover Halloween candy, lip balm, and a ten-dollar McDonald’s gift card. I asked his name.

“Danny,” he said, and told me he lived under the railroad bridge across from the Speedway. I couldn’t quite picture it. “I have a little tent. Yeah, it’s cold, but it’s not too bad. I can stay out of the wind and the rain. But the trains – they’re so loud.” (To myself I think, I guess so – they’re 10 feet above your head!) “You always remember me. God bless you.”

I figured out where Danny was living. You can’t see it from the road, which is good if you think about it. But if you drive through the back parking lot of the business closest to the north edge of the bridge, you can see how the concrete supports form curved, tunnel-like openings. There is fencing along the edge of the lot but you could squeeze between the posts. The road at this point crosses the river, then immediately the railroad crosses overhead. The tunnel under the roadway might also be a spot people could use without ever being suspected, let alone seen. But the water levels would vary and I’d think there would be rats.

The next two times I saw Danny, he was along the driveway to Save-A-Lot. Another baggie. A bottle of water. “God bless you.” Now it was between Christmas and New Year’s. “You moved!” I say.

“I have to move around a bit. Can’t always be in the same spot. People complain. The sheriff was just here. He told me that he was supposed to arrest me, but he’d just swing through for now. Said he’d be back in half an hour and I’d better be gone. He was real nice; a good guy. I’ve been arrested about 15 times. But I’m not doing anything illegal so they let me go.” He tells me he just came from church. They have a free breakfast and then he stays for the service. I ask where. The United Methodist Church on the square. Then Danny told me he’s supposed to get housing right after New Year’s. I ask how they’d find him to let him know. He has a cell phone. It’s hard to keep it charged. He likes to listen to music on it at night, but it runs the battery down. The guys at Speedway let him recharge it.

I go back to Save-A-Lot looking for Danny on New Year’s Day and find him there. The first thing he says is “How was your New Year’s?”

“Quiet,” I say. “How about yours?”

“Quiet,” he says with a grin. A bigger bag this time, with cookies and apples too. “Oh good, apples! I need to eat something healthy. God bless you.”

I ask again about the housing. The offices will be open again tomorrow. He’s hopeful.

I’ve looked for Danny multiple times since New Year’s Day, but haven’t seen him. Maybe the housing came through. God bless us all…maybe it did.

But still, I wonder, why is it always the homeless who say “God bless you?”