Snuggled up with just the right weight of mug filled with piping hot coffee, wrapped in my favorite sweater, I read, "Give to the one who begs from you..." Suddenly, dramatically the camera pans out to a birds-eye view, the bottom drops out of my soul, and eternity weighs down.
I missed it.
I had art to pick up, coffee to buy, friends to collect from the airport...I didn't have time. I clenched my purse straps closer to my shoulder, mustered my most compassionate look, and said, "No, I'm sorry."
I can still see her face when I close my eyes.
I see her with face weathered by time and most likely substance abuse, as she hovers near the edge of the sidewalk on Prince St. on the line before the art district starts. One foot in her world, one in ours. Lines define the edges of her eyes, dark, flat and empty. She extends a palm and asks soflty through cracked lips and missing teeth, "Pardon me miss, could you spare a dollar so I could get a hamburger at MacDonalds?"
I scanned her dirty jeans, holey flannel shirt and ragged gesture. I didn't have time. I had a dollar. I would have taken her to get the sandwich, but I didn't have time, I told myself.
I missed it.
I missed sitting with another soul and giving her my time.
I missed feeding her.
I missed extending my own palm with a Savior's touch.
I missed giving her the chance for a different eternity.
I missed the kingdom of God come to earth.