Weekends seem to be the designated time that everyone’s hand is out asking for food and help.
Every single time that I am asked or approached, an imp inside of me wants to say “Whoa…little do you know who it is you are asking for a hand-out from!”. And isn’t that the truth for all of us? Based on appearances, it’s easy to formulate assumptions. Others seem to have at least some of what we think we’d like. Happiness, love, strength, rest, beauty, wealth, dream careers, travel…but inhabiting the shoes of the objectified person could very well flip one on one’s head. How one appears and what’s going on is most likely only in a hint of alignment.
On the other side of things, several years ago, I attended a spiritual school where one of the exercises involved not eating for a day (or was it two?) and then, when feeling very weak and vulnerable and hungry, being asked to go out into the streets and the only thing that one could say was ‘I’m hungry will you feed me?’. Not until this exercise did I grasp the full scope of the courage and difficulty, (this time not challenge, d-i-f-f-i-c-u-l-t-y) in walking up to strangers, in the community where one lives, and saying this. My dignity would not allow it for the first half of the day, even though I was faint and feeling sick. And then I did it, and I was met with the most incredible kindness. The ‘thing’ is that once someone said ‘Oh, what can I get for you?’ The only words that you could say over and over were ‘I’m hungry, will you feed me?’, which meant that on top of everything else, you appeared to be mentally/emotionally challenged. Humbling and heart expanding.
Besides the fact that on weekends my pennies do find their ways into others’ pockets, a smile, a kind word, a nod is also most appreciated. Softness softens, even if just for a minute, and the return is forever.