I hear my doorbell ring followed shortly by a few rushed knocks.
I know who it is – but my heart can’t stand to turn down a small request.

Angry. 
Frustrated with a hurtful past interaction and my inability to trust him again. You forced me into a hard situation – one that made me look like a bad person.
The person I became after that showed me a much misunderstood brokenness.

When I’m alone, you need money. When I’m not, you need conversation. I sit and contemplate how God’s heart breaks for the Beloved, and also all the love in those small things. Sandwiches. Candy. A place to sit.

I see signs from shelters that say, “Don’t give to the homeless”…Give to us, they say. 
We’ll put it to good use. And I’m sure they do. But maybe sometimes, their need is immediate. Or at least it seems so - to be on the street, the need is always immediate.

I saw a man swaying from exhaustion back and forth behind his cardboard sign that read, “Anything helps. God bless.”

As if those words, “God bless” was supposed to hit me deep…Ha…I’ve seen it before. Whatever.

No…it hits me deep in the gut – like a boulder crashing into that mighty spirit driven river.
Every time. I see your face.

It’s not something I’ve ever been able to get over. I don’t think I will – I don’t think I should. 
The cry of the poor. It is prophetic. 

The waterlogged cardboard and the hopeless looks.

I’d imagine that holding a sign in front of your face saves a little dignity – but I keep driving…imagining what life would be like without a fallback plan, or without a family to bail me out.

Those words…”God bless” create new meaning when they’re not spoken inside of a church. They bring guilt…and rightfully so. How dare you make me feel guilty for not giving you a few bucks? 

My conscious moans. There is an insecurity of losing it all – an outward example of brokenness..
…of holding that sign in front of my face.