There is a stoplight that I go through pretty much every day that has homeless men begging on almost every occasion. Last week, I was feeling generous, but did not have the guts to hand the man a few dollars.
So yesterday, as I waited again at the light, I summoned the gentleman (who was a different guy from the last time). He was an older man, someone's father, someone's grandfather. So I handed him a dollar and some change. He could barely talk and the smell of alcohol was rancid on his breath. With slurred speech he spoke of blessings and God's grace allowing him to still be here despite his mistakes.
I contemplated my decision to give the man money. Obviously he was drunk. But how can I assume that he is going to spend it on alcohol? Is my heart in giving to the man the most important thing? He himself will have to answer for how he spends that money.
As I drove away, I cried. Tears of sadness, tears of pity...and overall, tears of shame, for how could I ever complain...why complain about cleaning the house--I've got one? Why complain about being stressed--I have things to do?
Why complain about "not having anything to wear" when I have a closet full of clothing?
Count your blessings...you've got so many!
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