We were waiting at the traffic light yesterday in Gresham, Oregon. (We were westbound on Highway 26 just before it goes under the I-205 freeway, if you must know.)

He, too, was waiting at the traffic light.

But, unlike we, he wouldn’t be moving on when the green light lit.

He was in motion, though, slowly walking on “his” piece of sidewalk, his hand-lettered piece of cardboard held for his captive audience to read.

The sign declared him…homeless…living in his car…needing money for food/gas.

I looked straight ahead. Because I rarely know what to do when I’m part of such an audience. I’m a cynic. I’m also a Christian. And generally in cases like that, the former triumphs over the latter.

Maybe it should. Maybe it shouldn’t. I don’t know.

Then He Who Will Not Call Them Kids thought of They Who Would Not Be Called Children — “What do they think of Dad not giving that man some money?”

And I realized, “I’m not looking at the guy.” Much less making eye contact. Why not?

I don’t know that either.

It seemed pretty lame then.

It seems very much so now.

Especially after reading this a bit ago:

“And Peter, fastening his eyes upon him with John, said, Look on us” (4).

So…what will I do next time?

I don’t know that either.

Maybe that man got from me such as I have — of compassion, of cynicism, of love, of suspicion, of generosity, of selfishness, of Christ.

Maybe.

Ouch!

What do you do in situations such as that?

from Acts 3:6