The Politician

It's electric in this little gym in South Bend. The school's colors, green and yellow, are splashed across the walls + clash with Democratic/Barack blue. Blue's a good color for a power suit, the analysts say. He looks good in blue, doesn't he?

5,000 people of all hues are crammed in here like cattle. Black + white, old + young, + a lotta downtrodden middle-class types. + a poor seminarian with lots of student loans. Some of us don't even like each other, would never look @ or greet each other outside of this gym. But we chant "O-BA-MA" (emphasis on the middle syllable) + smile + cheer + do the "wave." United for one hour.

In that frozen moment, I look around that sea of voices + realize the power of a promise…for change, for hope, for unity. The power of words.

But when he's done talking, we'll push our way out of that place + break back up into our cliques, white + black + pacific islander + other. The people we're comfortable with.

This happens every four years. The same feelings of hope. Another politician comes thru town. People come + cheer. He wins or loses. He keeps some promises, breaks others. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

Sorry if I sound jaded. But it might be because all I've known about politicians are little soundbytes. + those scripted TV speeches enhanced with makeup + teleprompters.

Still there I was, waiting in line for 3 hours to see the politician. I ended up talking w/ this older guy. Short, with graying hair (about my dad's age) + a trucking cap on his head. Name's Lenny. He was a lil' kid when his parents took him to an RFK rally right here in Indiana, the week before he was assassinated. He's all smiles but when I tell him what I'm studying, he frowns.

"Religion's always just been a bunch of rituals to me. But hey, whatever floats your boat. Whatever makes you feel good about yourself…that's success. I'm glad you've found something you enjoy doing."

Raised Catholic, married to a secular Jew + now he's agnostic.

He thought he'd met Jesus. Didn't like what he heard. All sermons, no action. All rules, no relevance. + at the very bottom of Lenny's wastebasket, you'll find Jesus along w/ Bush, Nixon, and all the other dead or good-as-dead presidents. + in 4 years, maybe Obama will join 'em.

But I'll bet if you went to Chicago's grimy South Side + talked w/ moms in the Altgeld Gardens projects who Obama helped to find housing after the steel plants shut down in the 80's. or the amputees in the Cook County Hospital who were able to receive benefits denied by the hospital, because Barack fought them in court. + they'd have something to tell you. They'd let you know that this man isn't just about words, or empty promises, or smooth political sayings. They'd give you an experience. With someone they know + trust as a friend.

If I talked w/ them, maybe I'd change my mind--that all politicians are the same. Despite all the terrible experiences I've had before, maybe this amputee waving his arm(s) so emphatically, would make me think twice about Barack Obama

I wonder, maybe the reason why Christianity is so dead today is because to most Christians, Christ is just another dead president. Another politician who said inspiring stuff + did miracles + died 2,000 years ago. Not a Person who is alive + speaking + inspiring + touching lives today.

If people like Lenny are confused about who Jesus is...maybe it's because people like me haven't really had a true encounter w/ the Politician.

Have you met Jesus of Nazareth? Not just a theory or doctrine about him. Or what you hear from CNN. Or even me. If you wanna know the real Politician, you gotta meet Him for yourself.

Turning around, Jesus saw them following and asked, "What do you want?" They said, "Teacher, where are you staying?"
"Come," he replied, "and you will see." So they went and saw where he was staying, and spent that day with him. (John 1:37-39)

"Jesus did many other miraculous signs in the presence of his disciples, which are not recorded in this book. But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name." (John 20:30, 31)

The Passenger

Nothing makes you question life like a plane ride.
Squished into a capsule full of hairy arms, coughs, B.O.
A helpless passenger in the hands of a pilot.

As you takeoff, your eyes close + flood with questions like:
If this airplane ride is my last breath, am I ready?
When was the last time I told Mom, I love you?
Is this guy to my right gonna keep hogging the armrest?

The lights go off. Cue for you to sleep
But the couple next to you is chattering
They look 80 but they tell you, they just got married 2 months ago!
Grew up around each other, but only realized recently
That it was love

On your connecting flight, you sit next to this sullen guy
(Did you know minor leaguers only make $10 an hr?)
He had to quit cuz of tendinitis in his throwing arm
Now he's divorcing his wife + wondering
How's he gonna to support his 2 daughters
When he's unemployed?

Landing is always more frightening than takeoff
Noisier, shakier, + you've seen too many fiery wrecks on CNN
But you're strangely calm
A world full of joys + pains
+ you're just another passenger
In a world full of airports

It makes you feel smaller than ever
+ reminds you that He's as big as He's always been.

The Flower Seller

You see me + probably think I'm a con artist.

I sell flowers, 1 for $3, 2 for $5. It goes toward a local homeless shelter.

It's funny cuz I look homeless myself. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not. Maybe the homeless charity is me. But people like to give money to an institution…somehow makes it less personal. For some reason, people don't like giving money to actual people.

I go into this Chinese restaurant that lets me in usually, long as it's not too busy. It's Saturday night but it'd dead. Cuz the food's too greasy, if you ask me. Canton, MI ain't exactly Malibu, CA, if ya know what I mean. Plus the economy's goin down the tubes. That trickles down to me too, you know.

Only a few tables. Dang, no young couples. Can always count on some rash young buck to bust out w/ a dozen roses to impress his new chick…that's $20 right there, make it $30 for 2 dozen. But no, just a buncha older folks tonite. One table waves me away before I can even make eye contact, sheesh.

There's this group in the back though. Looks like some kinda celebration. Nice lookin folks, kinda loud. Maybe all those good vibes will mean somebody feels romantic, or @ least a little guilty. Hopefully not too annoyed @ some dirty homeless guy interrupting their party. Uh oh. I get some wary glances before I'm halfway to their table.

"Would any of you guys like some flowers?"

No, it's okay, they say.

"All the proceeds go to the local homeless shelter."

By their nervous glances, I can tell they're probably some kinda religious folk. If they don't care, they'll just yell @ me. But if you're a good Christian, you ain't 'sposed to yell @ poor homelesss guys right? @ least not when ppl are watching.

"So which homeless shelter is it?" One of the fellas asks me. Can't tell if he's genuinely wanting to know, or trying to call me out as a fake. Looks like the youth leader maybe, kinda young-looking + not very confident. Been there less than a month, I bet.

"Oh, it's Detroit Health Care for the Homeless," I say. "Right down the street, actually, do you want our card?"

No it's ok, he says. Shakes my hand + asks for my name. Robert, I tell him. Then he starts looking around @ the end of the table, as if he's checkin to see if there's a seat for me. Like he's really gonna invite me to sit down wit' 'dem! Ha! Like that's really happenin. These nicely-dressed Asian churchy folks, having me as their special guest for dinner! Sometimes I crack myself up.

Another of the guys says he'll buy a couple of flowers. Just to get me outta there, sounds like. Fine w/ me. He's only got a twenty so I count out his change. Some real nice guys. Suckas. I turn around to leave, and the youth pastor guy tells me in kindofa sad voice, Have a good night there Rob.

Yeah, I'd have a better night if you all weren't so stingy, only buying 2 flowers just to get me outta your face. Funny, if he can't use me as a sermon illustration or as some story in his online blog about witnessing to people, would this guy even give a rip about me? Shake my hand, ask my name + act all friendly, say "God bless you" in front of all his churchy friends?

Doubt it. People only give if they know somethin's comin' back. Guilt + 2 flowers = $5. That's how people are. Christians or not. The day I get invited to share a birthday party with some random strangers, that's the day I'll freakin become a Christian myself. Hah.

They're singing "Happy Birthday dear Jenny" as I head outside. I'm actually pretty hungry but $5 don't go too far @ a Chinese place @ dinnertime. Too bad there's no homeless shelter in downtown Canton. Guess I'm sleepin in the park again tonite.

"Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says to him, "Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed," but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?"
(James 2: 15, 16)

There are many who hide their soul hunger...Many of these can be reached only through acts of disinterested kindness. Their physical wants must first be cared for...As they see the evidence of your unselfish love, it will be easier for them to believe in the love of Christ. -Ellen White

The Plumber

Ever went home + found your entire bathroom inundated w/ sewage?

Not the best Wednesday I've had in my life. Spent a good couple of hours mopping up…stuff. Actually, it wasn't just mopping. It was…chunky. You can't mop chunks. You have to scoop 'em up. Yeah, it was pretty gross.

Finally I think I got everything all bleached + spic + span, + there's more gurgling noises. Another explosion. More mopping.

a kodak moment

I call the emergency plumbing people + they say they'll get back to me.
That night, I'm in bed w/ one hand on my cell + the other on my plunger.
I hear gurgling noises in my dreamless sleep.
Ever watched that movie, The Blob? Yeah.

The plumber doesn't call me back.

So you can understand why I'd be a little bit angry as I called every plumber in the phonebook. To no avail. Finally, I get a hold of a small family company.

"Okay your name's Jim? Great. Can you come today? Great. Yup, I need my whole sewage line roto-rootered. Stuff gurgling up thru the bathtub, toilet, I need you to come like now. Right now. You can? Great, thanks, bye."

Finally, the plumber comes. He's got this thick worksuit on, w/ these heavy-duty rubber gloves. He somehow knows exactly where the sewer line is--this weird-looking pipe with a cap. I go outside to watch him, just to make sure he gets that gunk out 4 good. He wheels out this machine with a 50 foot metal coil and a spinning blade @ the end.

His knee is pushing down the power switch, and he's shoving the metal coil down the sewer line. Grunting + pushing. Sometimes it gets caught on something + he yanks on it with both hands. I didn't realize how much work it was to be a plumber. I just thought it was one of those dirty but easy jobs, like garbage collecting. For people who don't have much ambition, or don't like school. You never hear a little kid say: "I'm gonna be a plumber when I grow up!"

Unless you're Jim. I find out Jim's a 3rd generation plumber. His granddad Jim started this business in 1963. Now his 20-year old son (yup you guessed it, Jim) comes out to work with him sometimes.

"Is your son going to college or anything?" I ask, stupidly.

"No. He doesn't have an ounce of ambition, right now. A few months ago, he got pulled over + the cops found a bag of weed under his seat. He went to jail for 3 days. That'll fix him, I thought. But when I asked him how it was, He said, it was pretty cool! Hung out w/ some friends. They gave me some food. I know this is bad, but I want something really bad to happen to him. God knows I don't know what to do with that kid…"

"Did he grow up in the church?" I ask, cautiously.

"We went to a Lutheran church for a few years. Then we got this new young pastor, that wanted to change some things around. Some of the older people circulated this list of what they didn't like about him, and his wife. I remember I sat there in church with that paper in my hands and thought, this can't be what a Christian is. I don't want my kids to grow up around this. And we left."

"Oh. I see." Sorry I asked, I wanna say. But I don't.

"I've seen a lot of churchgoing people, and they seem to be a bunch of hypocrites. My neighbor goes to a Wednesday night prayer meeting. One time, I was out shoveling snow. My neighbor's driving back from church + rolls his window down + yells out in a condescending tone: "Hey Jim, I just got back from church. How do you feel about that?"

"Ouch. That sucks." I have nothing to say. It gets real quiet.

"So anyways, what are you studying @ Andrews?" he asks.

"Umm…theology. Where did you say you grew up again?"

He's lived in Michigan his whole life. The little Lutheran high school where he just had his 20th year reunion. A graduating class of 20! + how he loves to go fishing with his son. Out on Paw Paw Lake there's these killer 4 foot trout with razor sharp teeth. He talks about how his mom died last year, and that his brother who lives in Chicago is gay + his dad's never accepted it.

"How 'bout you? How do you feel about it?" I ask

"What can I say? He's my brother. I'll always love him."

Before I know it, he's already plumbed my line over a dozen times + each time, takes out a balled-up tangle of roots the size of my fist. No wonder I couldn't flush my toilet!

It's funny, but Jim turns the conversation back to spiritual topics. Like he needs to defend his spirituality. Usually defensive folks are that way b/c they've been attacked a lot.

He tells me that even though he doesn't go to church, he still believes in God. He + his wife watch Joyce Meyer on TV every Sunday. + that he likes to try to live by the Golden Rule: "treat others like you'd want to be treated." One time he got a call to do a house + when he went, the entire family was grieving. The mom had just died + all the relatives were over @ the house. He plumbed their line quietly + just left. No bill, nothing.

"Those kinds of moments are what I live for, you know? Money can't buy that kind of feeling, when you've done something good + you drive away with a smile on your face. That's the Holy Spirit running all through ya!"

He takes off his gloves + writes the receipt. $90. Any plumbing company would've charged me twice that much. I shake his hand. He's gets in his van + is about to shut his door. "Do you mind if I pray with you for your son?" I ask. Sure, he says. I put my hand on his shoulder + we pray. During the prayer, I wonder if I should mention something about church. That God would help him find one. I don't. I just ask God to help his son discover how loved he is. Amen.

He drives away + I wonder, how many people out there feel too dirty to step into a church? I wonder, does this world just need more Christians to clean up their act? Is it "better-behaving" Christians we need, or less judgmental ones?

I don't know. But I do know that (according to my landlord) in another few years, the pipes will get clogged again. Because the roots around here grow real fast. + eventually, I'll have to get the lines plumbed again. But I'm not that worried. Because I have Jim's number now. + I know that I can count on his help again. He won't laugh at my condition. Or blame me for my flooded bathroom. Or preach to me about how I should've maintained my pipes. + I bet that if I were hard up on cash, he'd even clean it out for free.

Jim may not realize it, but He's a lot like another Plumber I know.

If only us Christians could be more like Him too.


Jesus replied, "And you experts in the law, woe to you, because you load people down with burdens they can hardly carry, and you yourselves will not lift one finger to help them." (Luke 11:46)

"I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ." -Mohandas Gandhi

The Hairstylist

Go into an American barbershop + you'll hear the normal banter about sports, the weather, local news. @ a Korean hair salon, it's a different story. The only noise you'll hear is snip, snip.

So for an Amerifob like me (a Korean-American who can't speak Korean very well) it's a perfect excuse to just sit there + not have to talk.

Yesterday, we're in the Chicago suburbs @ my friend's favorite hair salon. It's a classy lookin joint, as Korean hair places tend to be. Studio lighting. The stylists are dressed in black. The mirrors are wavy, the furniture new-agey. The chairs raise @ the touch of a buttom, smoother than my van's power seats.

Did I mention that I hate speaking in Korean? Unless it's to my mom. Because she always seems to understand what I'm trying to say, no matter how bad I sound. But even when I'm talking to a little Korean kid, I get self-conscious.

+ did I mention my hairstylist is a girl? And she's kinda cute too. I bite my upper lip. Definitely not gonna say anything to her in Korean + look like an idiot.

She looks a little older than me. Hair dyed light brown, kinda wavy. Wearing an expensive-lookin droopy green blouse. Eyeshadow matches her black pants. A ebony necklace + a big leather belt cinched high on her waist. If she were American she'd be smackin on gum, don't care about anythin hun. But no, she's a good Korean girl so she'll be polite + pretend to give you her attention.

She asks me how I want my hair cut. In Korean.

"Uh…just short. Along the sides. Short OK. Just trim. I not picky."

That's the gist of what I was stuttering in Korean. She nods + starts to snip away. Whew. What a relief. Now I can just shut up + get my hair cut.

I look @ her snipping away. + I wonder what her life story is. What she's doing in Chicago. What her family situation is like. What her relationship w/ God is like. I wonder who's really there, behind this façade of a nonchalant hairstylist.

Well too bad I'll never know, I think to myself. I guess somebody else who's fluent in Korean will hafta find out.

I can't even explain how to cut my hair to her. + even if she were good @ English, she's not my type anyway.

Wait. Why did I just think that? What is my "type"?

+ why does that even matter?

Why can't I witness to someone who I think is attractive?

Or witness to someone I'm not attracted to @ all?

When I look @ a girl…am I trying to get her for myself, or do I want her for Christ?

I realized, that I couldn't have both. If I'm always thinking about what I want, then I will be missing out on what Jesus wants. + that includes kinda attractive Korean hairstylists.

+ looking at this girl I realize, that Jesus wants her. + no matter what I feel about her, that's the only thing that matters.

I pray. + somehow my nervousness subsides. My tongue loosens up. + in the midst of the scissors snipping and hair dryers buzzing, I start conversating in Korean w/ a complete stranger.

How long has it been since you came to America? I ask.

A few months, she says.

How do you like it?

It's kinda lonely. I don't have a lot of friends.

(silence)

Do you live around here? I ask.

Yeah, with my family, she answers.

(I'm praying real hard here).

So…do you go to church?

No. I haven't gone in a long time, cuz I work on Sundays.

Oh. Do you get a day off?

Yeah, Tuesdays.

(I think about cracking a joke about finding a church that worships on Tuesdays, but I realize my Korean vocabulary can't handle such complicated jokes).

Well, I say, when I was living in New York, I was pretty lonely too. I didn't have a lot of friends, either. But when I started going back to church, I found a lot of good friends. You should try to find a church too.

Yeah, she says. I probably should.

Snip, snip.

She's done. She takes me to the back + shampoos my hair (it's one of those fancy places). She says her name is Yuri. She smiles. I pay the $15 + give her a tip + then een-sah (bow). I walk out into the cold winter air with my wet, just-washed hair.

The last time I studied Korean hard, was in college. I had a crush on a Korean noona (older girl) I was tutoring. So I bought a cell phone to call her with, a Korean-English dictionary to woo her with. But after she explained that Korean girls don't date younger guys, I haven't cared about my Korean since. I have no use for it, really, except when I call my mom. Or crack jokes w/ my Korean buddies. Or try to impress the older folks @ church.

It's been a really long time since I've cracked open my Korean comic books or the easy translation of the Korean bible. But maybe tonight, it's time to start brushing up on my Korean again.

"Whoever has will be given more; whoever does not have, even what he thinks he has will be taken from him." (Luke 19:26)

"Every new disclosure of the Savior's love turns the balance for some soul in one direction or another." -Ellen White

The Hitchhiker

I love driving.

But only if I'm the one driving.

I hate to ask people to give me a ride. And I hate when other people drive my car. Maybe because I'm a control freak. Or maybe it's because I don't like being dependent on anybody else.

It was the day after final exams, and I went out for a drive. Feeling so carefree. No homework, no projects, no tests to study for. I was headed toward my favorite Chinese buffet in Benton Harbor.

Then I see him. He's disheveled, with a plaid jacket and workboots. He's wearing a backpack. He's got his thumb held out. A hitchhiker.

I've never picked up a hitchiker before. Usually, I'm by myself and in a rush. Sometimes, I'm with friends + going somewhere to hang out. But this time, I'm with my friend Eric. We're just driving to town to eat lunch + celebrate the end of the semester.

I pass him up @ 1st. But I can still stop if I want to. A million thoughts race through my mind as I decide whether to hit the brakes or accelerate past. What if he's dangerous? What if he tries to knife me as I'm driving? No, then he'd be killing himself! But what if that's what He wants?

But it's the last thought that hits me like a ton of bricks: "Chris, if you can't help somebody the day after finals is over, then when will you EVER help anybody?"

I hit the brakes.

Where you going? "Mercy Hospital in Benton Harbor" he says. (Wow, that's gotta be @ least 15 miles away!) Great, we're headed that way. Hop on in.

His name is Curt. About 5'4, kindofa beer belly. Graying, wispy hair tied in the back in a ponytail. Untrimmed mustache, some stubble. Square glasses.

I'm a roofer, he says. But there aren't any roofing jobs in the wintertime, so he basically is unemployed for 1/2 the year. He's staying with his mom in Berrien, because her arthritis is getting bad.

He talks fast. Gets tangled up in his own words sometimes, but keeps sputtering along. "Going to the hospital in Benton Harbor to get my teeth looked @," he says. Need to get some dentures, because I just had a few teeth taken out. Can't chew very well.

Can you chew some Sweet + Sour Chicken? We're going to a Chinese buffet + it's on the way to the hospital. He says sure.

We grab our plates + pile them high with stir-fry, noodles, rice, meat. We sit down + pray for the food.

I ask him if he goes to church. Just started going out recently, he says. A local Pentecostal one his mom goes to. They're really teaching me to be filled with the Spirit, he says. It's really been a blessing in my life because I want more faith. God's blessed a lot of them in that church (financially, I think he's trying to say) and I wonder why God's not blessing me too. Must be my lack of faith, he says, shaking his head in resignation.

But Curt, I say. A lot of people who are rich + drive fancy cars, don't have much faith. Because they don't feel like they need God. Maybe God is allowing you to go thru your hard times, to teach you to trust Him. After all, faith is having hope in what is not seen, right?

That's true, says Curt. It's quiet for awhile as me munch on our food and think about theological things. Deep spiritual topics and MSG-loaded Chinese food don't really mix too well.

We get in the car + head toward the hospital.

"By the way," he says abruptly. "Do either of you guys want to buy a couple of CD players?"

He pulls them out of his backpack. They look like those $7 things you see at Rite Aid.

"I paid $15 each, I think. But they won't let me return it at Walmart because I don't have an ID and I lost the receipt. Please, I know you guys treated me to lunch but I just need to get rid of these things somehow."

The "Price-is-Right" side of me says, this guy's trying to rip me off. Besides, it's 2 weeks 'til Christmas. I'm strapped for cash myself! That morning, I'd checked my accounts online and was worrying about paying off my credit card balance this month.

But I look @ Curt. He's struggling to make it thru the winter. Living with his mom. Hitchhiking to a hospital to get dentures.

He's willing to take whatever I can give him, but I hand him 2 twenties. He's ecstatic. "Thank you so much, man, I really appreciate it!" Then he jumps out of my car. Crosses the street. Walks into the hospital. And he's gone.

I get back onto the highway. It starts to rain. I like rain, because I'm usually the one driving in it. I like being in control of the situation.

But meeting Curt, has gotten me to thinking. Maybe once in a while, I can stop being so independent. Self-sufficient. Maybe it'd be good to start depending on other people. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to be a hitchhiker once in a while, and not always have to be in the driver's seat.

"Share each other’s burdens, and in this way obey the law of Christ." (Galatians 6:2)

Bag Lady

She's a bag lady if I ever saw one. Leaning against the phone booth with a look on her face that said either drugs, or dementia. Spaced out. Didn't acknowledge our presence. Just stood there w/ her 3 giant Duane Reade bags, spilling over with random stuff. A green stethoscope. Some dishes. Rags.

I was with my friends Eric + Abby + Yoon Jae. We were doing an outreach project for homeless people in New York. We'd already given away our sack lunches. All the nice jackets + sweaters were gone. I was getting so embarrassed lugging around these trash bags full of winter clothing to give away. Rich people in Times Square giving me looks.

We were on a side street, headed back to the subway, when we spotted her. + her bags.

Her name was Jackie. She was distraught, her frizzy gray hair sticking up, electrified-lookin. Dirt trapped under her fingernails. Exuding the smell of old, musty attic. Supposed to get my $700 welfare check today but now they're telling me next week, she says. What am I going to do for another week?

No panic in her voice. More like absolute dejection. Like she'd already given up on life.

Aww sorry 'bout that, we understand. We nod our heads, uh huh. My parents paid my way thru NYU. But yeah, I feel your pain. She doesn't look us in the face. But we ask her anyway: "Do you want to come to a health expo + get your health checked out? It's @ our church in Queens."

She doesn't know how to navigate in Queens. She lives in the Port Authority Bus Terminal. So we write her directions. But she doesn't even have $2 for the subway fare. Do we have any? she asks.

My first reaction is great, another drug addict trying to scam some money from us. Isn't that what the TV news specials talk about? Another con man making $500 a day from panhandling. Trying to get something 4 nothing, instead of getting a job.

But this lady obviously doesn't have anyone else to lean on. Except this phone booth. + these bags. + here I am, telling her to get herself + her bags over to Queens so we can help her. God helps those who help themselves right? Never know what's in that bag of yours, Jackie. A crack pipe? Maybe a syringe or 2?

+ then I remember. I have a metrocard in my wallet. + 2 dollar bills. It's all I have. + might be all it takes, if I really want her to come.

So I give it to her. She takes it + puts it in her wallet. "Would you mind if we prayed with you Jackie?" Why sure. Let's hold hands, I say. I try not to squirm or stare @ the dirt packed underneath her nails. We pray for Jackie there on the busy, noisy New York sidewalk. Buses + taxis honking. Pigeons walking around. + suddenly I hear her. She's crying.

I feel bad for her. Reflexively, I lean over + hug her. I've never really been this close to a homeless person before. Her head is resting on my shoulder. Our hair strands are touching. I feel kinda dirty. But I also feel strangely @ peace. I can feel her calming down too.

It's late. We're about to leave. She's so grateful for the subway card, the $2. Now I can sleep in a warm place tonight, she says excitedly. But if we never see each other again, how will she remember us? We check our trash bags, the ones I was so ashamed to be carrying. There's nothing her size except a fuzzy purple bathrobe. Looks like something Hugh Hefner would wear.

It's beautiful, she says. I have a friend who would love it. + puts it in her bag. We leave Jackie there on that street corner + she looks so happy. No longer leaning, but standing up straight. Smiling. I find, I can't stop smiling either.

There is more hunger in this world for love and appreciation than for bread.
-Mother Theresa

"And if anyone gives even a cup of cold water to one of these little ones...[he] will certainly not lose his reward." (Matthew 10:42)