Chapter 21 "Beggars at the Gate"

Faded rags covered the slender arms that reached up, open palms, toward May as she walked up the steps and through the gate to the ch*r*h. She turned her head slightly to the left without slowing her stride toward the open door. Beggars had become common. They had become nothing more than broken bodies covered by filthy rags. They had no past, no future, no children, no friend, and no one that missed them. Their eyes were no longer slits that told stories of struggle and sacrifice or of misfortune and sadness. She had begun to ignore each person that asked for money. She did not realize she had gotten to the point of dehumanizing the very people she came to love, until she sat down in the church pew and thought about the man on the ch*r*h steps.

Her heart was confronted with the “giving” issue again, as it had been a few nights before when convicted by wisdom that came through one of the brother’s words. She knew her “giving”, or lack of it, needed changing. She reached into her purse. As her fingers clenched onto the gold rimmed coins that lay hidden at the bottom, she thought about the dozens of times she did not put change into the beggar child’s sweaty hands, into the lame man’s tin cup, or into the woman’s thin fingers that reached through the amjad’s window.

She had been stuck in “thinking” about giving long enough. As with everything in her life, when she let herself be stuck in the “thinking” part, the doing part usually lagged behind. She contemplated the “how much”, “when”, and “who” questions. The stereotypes that often kept her from giving money, but rather food in the US, happened to be the same stereotypes that kept her fingers locked together in Africa. Embarrassed by other culturally embedded thoughts, she came to the conclusion the street beggars with half burned bodies, or missing limbs, or puss filled eyes, and eight year old orphans probably would use the money for food or shelter, not for addictions. This day, bigger thoughts came to her mind as she pulled her copper filled hand out of her purse.

May wanted a heart that did not fear not having things. She wanted a heart that longed to do more then empty the loose metal in her pockets into the hands of beggars. She wanted a heart that answered, “I’ll give them my bills and when I run out of bills I’ll give them the clothes off my back,” when her mind wondered what she would do if she ran out of loose change. May wanted a heart that desired to give everything to the poor and that did not worry about student loans and more education and material things. She did not have that type of heart yet. She wanted the inner chambers of her heart to desire to give what she had…religion that G our Father accepts as pure and faultless is to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.

She pulled out the small handful of coins from her purse and sat in the pew understanding grace deeper then before. She deserved nothing more then to be a beggar sitting on the steps of Heaven’s door, arms raised pleading to be let in the gate. It was by His Sacrifice she would be allowed through the gate, and by His grace that He did not ignore her or make her beg to enter. May walked out of the church to the beggar and dropped the coins into his hands, this time she saw his eyes. She saw a purpose and a future for this man. She wondered what these slender arms covered by faded rags would look like one day, palms lifted toward the S*vi*r, and she whispered for his soul.