If You Give a Man a Meal...

Sometimes there is a moment in life that, while it is happening, you know it is a test. Today just such a moment happened to me.

I made an excursion today with my kids to the local Target. Out here, that means an hour round-trip of travel, planned around naps and mealtimes. After our shopping was finished, I decided to stop by the local Panda Express to pick up some dinner to take home. Now, it's important to note that I don't eat out here very often, despite my love of "Americanized Chinese food," because we're poor. Some might ask how we can eat out at all, if we're so poor; everyone spends their money differently, so I'll leave it at that.

Anyway, as I pulled up to the takeout window, the girl leaned over and said, "Can I ask you kind of a strange question?" I said sure. "Do you like shrimp?" I nodded in the affirmative; I liked their shrimp, but I wouldn't usually order it because it costs extra. The girl then proceeds to tell me that the last guy through the line couldn't pay for his order, so there it was, all boxed up and ready to go, so I could have it for free! My guess is that once food is taken out of their serving dishes it can't go back, for sanitary reasons.

I was so excited I pulled into a parking spot to examine my prize. I immediately thought a quick, silent prayer of gratitude, as I opened the box to reveal two servings of shrimp, plus chow mein (I prefer the noodles over the fried rice). I then sent my husband a text message at work to share the good news, closing everything back up and settling it on the seat next to me.

Then the test arose. 

A man was standing on the corner, next to the fast food restaurant, holding up a cardboard sign that I only partly read. As soon as I got to the word "hungry," I pulled over, put my car in park, and rolled down the window, handing the homeless man the bag of free food. "Do you like shrimp?" I asked. He nodded, reached for the food, and said, "God bless!" A shiny metal stud poked through his scraggly beard, the rough rubber of his gloves scraping my fingers as the bag passed from my hands to his through the open window. And we went our separate ways.

I've been thinking of that moment ever since. 

It felt so good to give that man some food! Whenever I see homeless people, I wish I could do something for them, and today I did! It was no burden to me to give him the food; it was a bonus, a bit of extra that had happened to fall into my lap, and I have never been stingy with what I receive.

I really do think that moment was a true test of my character. I may SAY that I am always willing to share, wanting to give, but when faced with free food, food that I liked in particular, would I still be willing to give it up?

Sometimes I imagine having lots of money and being a "person of means," and I like to tell myself that I only want money so I can give it away, to help more people. One of my favorite television shows is "House Hunters International," although it's a love-hate relationship. I love "seeing" all the exotic locations; I hate listening to all the rich white people whining about every little detail that isn't up to their exacting tastes, for their SECOND homes. I have told the hubby that if we are ever rich enough to afford a second home, I never want to buy one. I would rather buy someone's FIRST home for them, instead. Sometimes I tell God these things, to see if He believes me and is willing to test my word. Today was that test, or at least one of them.

I think I have what's called a "bleeding heart." Whenever I make treats at home, I usually give away at least half (much to my husband's dismay). I love to share. (I'm sure when my boys are older I will have to make an entirely separate batch, and then guard it, if I want to give some away, but until then, my neighbors get lots of treats.)

I have heard that one cannot become poor by giving too much; I have also heard that giving is a luxury. I constantly do battle with those schools of thought.

My husband and I donate ten percent of all our earnings. I trust my church's ability to spend those funds wisely and help others through their specific means and experience. There are lots of charities out there that claim to do so much good, but they either turn a large profit, or the people running the charity really don't have good business sense and  money is wasted. I also believe in making a difference at the community level. I've volunteered before to help clean a local women's shelter, and I've helped put in a new landscape at a community center. But for all that, I still wish I could do more. 

Homeless people in particular make me uncomfortable. My "safety training" makes me wary of all strangers, especially vagabonds. Why are they there in the first place? Drugs? Alcohol? Mental illness? A willingness to be irresponsible blights on society? I just don't know. But I still feel guilty ignoring them.

I am a firm believer in the admonishment to teach others to fish instead of simply handing them a fish. As one that has had to receive "fish" on a number of occasions, accepting handouts is detrimental to one's self-confidence. I may have never been homeless, but I have come too close for comfort. Eviction notices are scary. If either of those experiences is remotely like what a homeless person goes through, I cannot imagine how they return to beg day after day. I pity them.

But what if the man you are feeding is putting on an act, willingly choosing not to work because it's easier on some level to feed off of others? I am more suspicious than the average person. It's something I learned from my mother, as a means of safety and self-preservation - I never did get into a car with a stranger who offered me free candy. The thought crossed my mind after I drove off, leaving that delicious free food with the unknown beggar. What if he just conned a gullible mother out of her meal?

Despite being more suspicious than average, I am still a fairly optimistic person. I believe there is good in the world, yet I am willing to accept the possibility that the man I "helped" today did not deserve it. I do not know his story. I do not know if he has a mental illness that keeps him from being able to care for himself, I do not know if that mental deficiency was of his own making. I do not know if he sells drugs to school children, I do not know if he once had children but lost them due to some tragedy and that drove him to his current state. I do know, however, that the moment I gave him the food, I passed a test, and maybe that's the only reason he was there.