So which of those title items would you like to hear about first? My call? Okay dokee, I’ll start with the good news, which is that my husband has been following through on a couple of job leads—please keep praying!—and hasn’t had a chance to do his guest post.
The bad news is…because I promised him “first post honors,” I am stuck in limbo when it comes to telling you about our trip out East, including (but not limited to) the great state of Delaware (Yes, people do live there!), taking our oldest to see Franciscan University, and getting together—Finally! After how many years?—with this beautiful gal.
Aren’t I lucky?
Meanwhile, I have to write something because frankly I’m forgetting how. My story concerns my getting beeped at, and if you remember this post you know that I really do not like getting beeped at.
Hate it. Loathe it. Despise it. Yeah.
Mostly it bugs me because I don’t like reminders that I do screw up. Also, though? I don’t like impatience. I hate it in me and I really, really hate in other people.
Their speck of saw dust vs. my enormous two-by-four, you know?
And so it goes…ad infinitum.
On Tuesday the girls and I were on our way to an AHG day camp at an historic farm. I stopped at a gas station on the way because I’d forgotten bottled water and then, on my way out of the parking lot, the dashboard alerted me that a “Door is open!” I braked and told Angela to pull her door shut more firmly…
…and the guy in the truck behind me beeped.
And muttered something.
And threw up his hands.
(It’s the throwing-up-of-one’s-hands that gets me.)
Instantly I opened my window, threw out my hand and…waved at him. This was an obnoxious gesture, I know, but not as obnoxious as it could have been. I waved at him and I stewed & stewed…I stewed ‘cause I’m prideful and that’s what I do.
Now compare this moment to yesterday. I was on my way to confession (not surprisingly) and Mass at the Cathedral, and at one of the stoplights there was a man with a sign.
There are often people at this particular intersection. Usually, we drive right past because my husband would rather give the money to charity. “I don’t want to fund their habit,” he says, and he’s right. Most of these people want a few bucks for cheap booze…but we don’t really know and when you’re stopped right there…
I just felt guilty and awkward for not acknowledging him.
I took a dollar bill from my purse and rolled down the window. The man hoisted himself to his feet—he had a cane—and proceeded to stagger over. He was really, really staggering and I thought, “Oh great. He is drunk and I’m an enabler.”
Then he fell on the grass and tried to get back up.
He fell again. He couldn’t do it.
“Just…just give it to me!” he muttered, embarrassed, but I really couldn’t reach him and felt awful—just awful. The light turned green and there was a line behind me. I opened the door. I grasped his hand and pulled him up.
As I got back in the car and drove away—my heart nearly exploding in my chest—I thought two things. One, I thought about how soft that poor man’s hand had been, and how tightly he grasped mine when I extended it.
The other thought I had? “What do you know? The cars behind me did not even beep.”
Have a great (if unpredictable) day, everyone.
Reading _Deus Caritas Est_ gave me the conviction that even if you are certain it's better not to give handouts to beggars, the one thing we may not do is refuse to acknowledge them.
Look people in the eye. Smile or nod. If you're not behind a car window, say "Hi" or "Good morning," the way you would to any stranger you pass on the sidewalk.
That can be really hard to do when you've already decided you aren't going to give him or her any money or food, but pretending he or she isn't there is simply not an option for the Christian.
Wow — this post and this comment. Yes. I feel horribly guilty for not giving money — my husband feels the same way as Margaret's — so, I don't look at them and I don't acknowledge. I'm ashamed, but also relieved to read what you've written in your comment here, bearing. Life is personal. Honor personal dignity — always. Yes. And, thank you.
I hope this isn't overly legalistic, but Matthew 5:42 says, "Give to the one who asks of you, and do not turn your back on the one who wants to borrow." It doesn't say "Give anyone who asks of you exactly what they are asking for," and it doesn't say "Lend to everyone who wants to borrow." It says "Give" and it says "Do not turn your back."
Oh you got to meet Barbara…Lucky Lucky You!
I only beep at people because I do not want them to crash into me. Driving is crazy out there.
Praying for your husband!
The ending was worth the whole read, Margaret. Wow!
Wow……you did the right thing. We must treat each person as if they are God as Jesus stated "when we do for his least brethren you did it to me." I will continue to pray for your husband.
Katie
Argh! I'm so jealous! Barbara is one blogger that I would dearly love to meet irl. You, too, of course. 🙂
I'm super impatient when driving and I've told my kids this week during several drives to volleyball practices that this is a real problem I have and for them to pray for me. I'm so impressed with what you did for that man. God bless you, Margaret.
At least one of us is photogenic. "I looked tired" my patootie. 🙂
Yes, folks, she is that cute. And that little.
PS I hate getting beeped at, too. The funny thing is, in our town, there is an unwritten rule about beeping. You don't. Only for danger. Seriously, people will sit through a whole green light and not beep. Outsiders sometimes break the rules, but insiders never do. And how do I know they are outsiders? Because they break the rule. 😉
PPS And if you shake your hands at me, I'm guaranteed to hit the breaks. I'm German for goodness sakes.
Praying about the job and what a wonderful "rest-of-the-story".
the two things at the end really hit me.
Isn't Barbara a lovely hostess? Now I know why she hadn't revealed her guest.
My husband has caved to my pleading eyes and sad face and meditative silence (as I offer up a Hail Mary or two) and last time gave me a dollar from his own pocket when we saw a man begging. It might have something to do with the statistics on how many of the homeless are vets. He's just happy if I only give $1…woe to him if I have only larger bills in my purse.
Oh, Margaret. You have me in tears. All I am thinking/wondering, is, "How long has it been since someone held that man's hand?"
Many prayers for you and definitely for your dh's employment!!!
Stacy in MI
p.s. One of our priests, while walking in DC, had no money for a homeless man, but asked his name to pray for him. He said this man sounded astonished to be able to say his own name.