Meeting Matthew
His sign said, “Hungry, anything helps.” He was standing at the corner of a street. I was in my car, driving from grad school to my elementary school where I was supposed to teach in a few minutes.
Of course, I looked away at first, trying to justify myself because I was in a hurry and didn’t have much to share. Giving a man some granola just seemed like an insult.
A few weeks before, I had passed someone and tried to give them half a cup of coffee and an apple, which they refused rather bitterly. Admittedly, half a cup of coffee is not the best gift, and an apple will not do much if you are hungry. But it was all that I had at the time, and the rejection left me a bit sour and hesitant to possibly be rejected again.
“I never know what to do in these situations,” I thought to myself, frustrated as I oscillated between my instincts to help and my fear and questioning.
But when the traffic was too heavy and the light turned red again, leaving me at the same corner for a couple minutes more, I decided to risk rejection and try to give this man my granola.
“This is all I have.” I said it apologetically, knowing that my half a bag of granola was not going to cure hunger, nor is it particularly delicious when eaten dry. I only bought it under the pretense of being healthy, and only grabbed it out of the cupboard because I was in a hurry and running out of groceries.
The man on the corner was so gracious, warm, and thankful. He held eye contact and was appreciative of my meager gift. I asked him his name and told him mine. We shook hands through the passenger side window of my car. His name was Matthew. I told him I would pray for him, but then had to continue driving on my way.
Our interaction was brief – less than thirty seconds – but it is something I continued to think about for the rest of the day, and many days since.
I encountered kindness and warmth in Matthew that day, as I rushed from one place to the next. I left the corner of that street holding back tears because in Matthew, I met someone who did not have expectations of me that I struggled to fulfill (a big worry for a new teacher who is also newly enrolled in grad school). In our poverty (his hunger and my busyness), we were able to give to one another in freedom, with warmth and a smile.
I am sure I am romanticizing his life and situation by thinking of him only as a Jesus figure in a moment of my day. He probably was hungry for most of the day. He may have slept outside that night. He was probably having a difficult time physically, emotionally, spiritually, and socially. A promise of prayer from a stranger along with a half of a bag of granola through a car window is really not going to save or change a life. But it was a meaningful moment for me. It taught me to give, even at the risk of rejection. And it re-planted in me a desire to encounter people and build relationships.
Of course, I looked away at first, trying to justify myself because I was in a hurry and didn’t have much to share. Giving a man some granola just seemed like an insult.
A few weeks before, I had passed someone and tried to give them half a cup of coffee and an apple, which they refused rather bitterly. Admittedly, half a cup of coffee is not the best gift, and an apple will not do much if you are hungry. But it was all that I had at the time, and the rejection left me a bit sour and hesitant to possibly be rejected again.
“I never know what to do in these situations,” I thought to myself, frustrated as I oscillated between my instincts to help and my fear and questioning.
But when the traffic was too heavy and the light turned red again, leaving me at the same corner for a couple minutes more, I decided to risk rejection and try to give this man my granola.
“This is all I have.” I said it apologetically, knowing that my half a bag of granola was not going to cure hunger, nor is it particularly delicious when eaten dry. I only bought it under the pretense of being healthy, and only grabbed it out of the cupboard because I was in a hurry and running out of groceries.
The man on the corner was so gracious, warm, and thankful. He held eye contact and was appreciative of my meager gift. I asked him his name and told him mine. We shook hands through the passenger side window of my car. His name was Matthew. I told him I would pray for him, but then had to continue driving on my way.
Our interaction was brief – less than thirty seconds – but it is something I continued to think about for the rest of the day, and many days since.
I encountered kindness and warmth in Matthew that day, as I rushed from one place to the next. I left the corner of that street holding back tears because in Matthew, I met someone who did not have expectations of me that I struggled to fulfill (a big worry for a new teacher who is also newly enrolled in grad school). In our poverty (his hunger and my busyness), we were able to give to one another in freedom, with warmth and a smile.
I am sure I am romanticizing his life and situation by thinking of him only as a Jesus figure in a moment of my day. He probably was hungry for most of the day. He may have slept outside that night. He was probably having a difficult time physically, emotionally, spiritually, and socially. A promise of prayer from a stranger along with a half of a bag of granola through a car window is really not going to save or change a life. But it was a meaningful moment for me. It taught me to give, even at the risk of rejection. And it re-planted in me a desire to encounter people and build relationships.
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