Uneven letters on a cardboard sign. Cars stopped at the exit ramp. A bedraggled man.
Was he on drugs? Had he been drinking? Was he actually homeless? There were no answers.
One homemade muffin remained in the plastic sandwich bag. “Give him mine,” my mom offered.
Before the light changed, I dangled the bag out of the opened window. With a huge smile, he took the muffin. “Thanks. Have a wonderful day.” Then he left. For a moment, that man was not invisible.
A similar, but even more disturbing, situation occurred the following day. At the stoplight of a very busy intersection, two figures stood on the concrete median. One held a cardboard sign. Homeless mother, 2 children, please help.
For years homeless men have stood on street corners around the city. I often avoided their eyes and looked the other way. It was too hard to watch. However, a mother and teenaged daughter brought tears to my eyes. I couldn’t look away.
I rummaged in my purse. A granola bar appeared. Through the passenger window, I passed the bar to the middle-aged mother. “Thanks.”
She handed it to her daughter. Immediately, the girl ripped the paper and began eating. My heart ached to watch them standing there surrounded by traffic.
I will never know the circumstances that took the trio to the streets. Whatever caused them to beg was not good. Their situations weren’t permanently altered by the brief exchange. But maybe a glimmer of hope shone into their lives. I felt God prodding me to give and be compassionate.
What comes next? A few ideas came to mind. Pray. Hand out information about local ministries. Give Bible verses with each snack. Look into their eyes. Smile. Listen to the still, small voice. Be obedient.
