The Open Window

It was a moment of confrontation that spun out of control.  Leaving the restaurant a large bill was placed on the dashboard for use at an ice cream place up the road.  However, before getting out of the parking lot, there appeared in the headlights a homeless person sorting through a shopping cart.  It was freezing.  No one was asking for anything, but apparently getting ready for another night on the street.  "I wish there was something we could do to help," spoke the voice of compassion beside me.  I picked up our ice cream money, held it up, and turned into the adjacent parking lot.

It was only when the headlight illuminated the homeless soul there in the cold night that she turned and came toward the lowered passenger window.  She took the money from the outstreched hand and looked at us in the warmth of the car.  She had on a hoodie which called attention to her worn and weathered face and eyes that penetrated not only the distance between us but our hearts.  She looked at me.  I looked at her.  I wish our eyes had not met.  I cannot forget her.  It has been several days and nights now, but I still remember the look in her eyes as she said  in that cold January night, "Thank you and Merry Christmas."   

One of the things I learned about myself in that brief encounter is that I would rather see the homeless through a rolled up window of a car that is moving.  It was terribly uncomfortable seeing her eyes and knowing she was seeing mine.  Seeing her changed the way I see those who are camped around me under bridges. I still do not know what to do, but she took away my choice of doing nothing.  It was as if God spoke through that open window and I am still tryng to listen.