I made it to my 7:43 train at Suburban with time to spare. There was a woman stretched out with blankets at the subway entrance, and I started to fumble in my bag for one of the granola bars I'd brought for the purpose, but gave up and kept moving down the steps.
I wondered afterward what I should have done. If giving the bar would have been more for my comfort or hers.
I don't simply have fun in the city, as I was telling Dad tonight. I'm too sensitive to the people around me, some that might as well be torn by shrapnel, their lives are so devastated. Should that ever become normal? Should I learn to ignore it? It's even hard to ignore the comments of solicitors. Are we ever free from responsibility to each other? We ARE our brother's keeper. What do I owe to the man with the cardboard sign, the sloppy-drunk 30-something on their way home to D-Town, the supercilious businessman on the phone behind me?
What do I owe You? How can I love You as I walk the streets of these cities where You are not absent, even in the stale hot air and industrial waste? I hope it means something to ask You, "Give me love, not fear, for every person I encounter." When people look at me, my face, my walk, my entire demeanor, may it point to You. May it be a sign of something holy and hope-filled, safe and convicting and right.
And may I be ready to give up myself, my "safety", my comfort and self-righteousness. May I see You as You are, and love You.
I wondered afterward what I should have done. If giving the bar would have been more for my comfort or hers.
I don't simply have fun in the city, as I was telling Dad tonight. I'm too sensitive to the people around me, some that might as well be torn by shrapnel, their lives are so devastated. Should that ever become normal? Should I learn to ignore it? It's even hard to ignore the comments of solicitors. Are we ever free from responsibility to each other? We ARE our brother's keeper. What do I owe to the man with the cardboard sign, the sloppy-drunk 30-something on their way home to D-Town, the supercilious businessman on the phone behind me?
What do I owe You? How can I love You as I walk the streets of these cities where You are not absent, even in the stale hot air and industrial waste? I hope it means something to ask You, "Give me love, not fear, for every person I encounter." When people look at me, my face, my walk, my entire demeanor, may it point to You. May it be a sign of something holy and hope-filled, safe and convicting and right.
And may I be ready to give up myself, my "safety", my comfort and self-righteousness. May I see You as You are, and love You.
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