Someday I hope to be able to
always look up in any circumstance. The idea came to me
after reading a blog by fellow writer and nature photographer Jack McLeod. In the blog, Jack
wrote of a soul provoking Christmas present from his daughter: 52
weeks of challenges, the first of which was to simply "look up". Jack's looking up
involved his reflection in word and photo and deed.
Perhaps it was his
blog...perhaps it was the photos from his time of "looking up" included here, but
something in those two words ruminated in my head like a brain worm, sort of a
background whisper to the start of my day.
That
start included a morning meeting in a nearby town, so I located a French bakery for treats to add to our sharing of tea and conversation. Perusing the delicacies, I
contemplated what I could bring for my long awaited chat session with my friend. Turning away from
the fruit custard tarts and sixteen layer cakes, I directed my attention to the
pastries, so light and airy I could feel the flakes falling on my shirt. A young woman took
my order, and as she prepared it, I stood transfixed by the array of sweets,
fighting the desire to buy one of each.
Then I heard Jack's challenge
in my head..."Look up." I turned my gaze towards the small courtyard
outside where frost still dusted the concrete from the previous night. The twenty degree
weather was still clinging to the air as I caught a motion out of the corner of my
eye. There next to a
small tree stood a young man and a young woman cramming their sleeping bags
into plastic bags and then into a small shopping cart. I knew immediately
that the frost covered concrete of the small patio had been their mattress for the
night and imagined what the night must have been like, as we had experienced a
prolonged cold spell. Immediately, a
whisper began in my head, “Buy them breakfast."
I
could feel The Whisper's strength, but equally strong were the voices against
the plan. The line was long, a meeting
awaited for which I was already late...the list of reasons forming in my
head drowned out The Whisper. I picked up my order at the sound of my name and
headed to the car, and
as I opened the car door, The Whisper's strength in my head
increased. And so did the litany of
excuses.
I could go to
Safeway and buy some coffees and pastries...but that would take too much time.
What
if I came back with all the food and no one was there anymore?
What
if I came back and they were violent when I offered breakfast?
Finally,
I realized that I would not get peace until I just listened to The Whisper, so
I called my friend, simply letting her know I would be late and that it was a
Holy Spirit thing.
When I returned, the voices
began again:
What if they are gone?
What if you get robbed?
What if they are mentally ill?
But the choice was the same:
listen and follow or be haunted by the missed opportunity.
I rounded the corner walking
into the small courtyard and placed the coffee and rolls in their hands along
with some money for lunch. I introduced myself and shook their hands.
"It cannot have been easy
to sleep outside last night," I offered as they introduced themselves.
"It's a good spot,"
he replied, "a safe place."
"At least we're
together," she added.
I asked them what led them to
be sleeping outside that night, and they both shared a simple story which is
probably common to many in this situation. I let them know
about the local missions, but I knew that a couple devoted to each other would
be split up from each other. Thinking of my own
husband and protector, I understood that being with someone you love and who
cares for you sometimes trumps everything.
We talked in the cold, and
then, as they readied to leave, we hugged each other and went our ways.
This is not a story to
highlight a generosity of spirit on my part. It is a story to
show you what a rusty heart looks like, one that is illustrated in the photo
of my friend Jack. My heart knows The Whisper
and from where it comes, but the human side of me living in fear of the
unknown and of connection has thousands of reasons not to act.
Every whisper that compels me
towards the Light is met with resistance. And I would love to
tell you that with practice, reaching out becomes easier. But in reality, I
have learned the battle never changes, nor does it get any easier. The only thing that
changes is that now, I am starting to recognize The Whisper more quickly,
though I rage against it as I seek a path of selfishness and isolation.
Two people who slept on
concrete in the cold welcomed me like an old friend that day. They had no
hesitation and no fear. They hugged with reckless abandonment. And, as always, they taught me the poverty of
my own spirit.
Someday,
I hope to have learned the lesson well enough that the battle is gone. But that is a
someday that, I think, awaits me only in heaven.
