Are We Not All Beggars

Are We Not All Beggars

My city is Salt Lake City, Utah. Each day as I walk to work I find the same lady at the same place before and after work. She is maybe five feet tall, her hair is reddish, it may have been dyed several times and her face is severely scarred. Her eyes are blue and her voice soft but raspy. She typically has a large straw hat to shade her face from the hot warm summer sun. As people approach her she always say something like, “Do have something, anything will do, a little something to help out.” Most people walk on by as though they did not see her or even worse as though she didn’t even exist. As they pass she says “God Bless”. Her voice is weak and he countenance is forlorn.

In Salt Lake City there are many panhandlers, some very aggressive with their rote story of how they are trapped here and need money for their family so they can take them home. They are very persistent and will press upon you until you give them something or rudely dismiss them. There is something about their eyes that lacks the sincerity of the little lady by Temple Square. Some are borderline oppressive and at the very least invasive. There have been times when I was actually confronted by this type of beggar and felt the force of their aggression to be more than just intrusive. It is hard to tell the difference between those in desperate need and those with much lesser need. Thus some donors simply have slips of paper with information for those in need so than find a place to get assistance.

Some street people play various kinds of instruments, from small portable pianos, harmonicas or guitars and some just sing. Some ride the bus to and from “work” in the streets. The streets are their employment. There are some who have no obvious talent and find themselves in some very dire conditions.

After having the opportunity to visit with Cindy, which is not her real name, many times over the period of a month or more I felt there was sincerity in her manner and in her conversation. One day I asked where she stayed at night, her response was, “Wherever there is somewhere safe.” She didn’t elaborate but the impression I got was it was behind buildings or somewhere outdoors in the city where she was not easy to find.

Then a couple of days later I saw her there was a bruise that covered half of her face and her cheek was quite swollen. When I asked what happen she explained that she attacked, beaten up and all her money stolen. As she explained tears were streaming down her cheek and voice cracking with emotion. It was all the money she had to help pay off a hospital bill when a man beat her up because she “wouldn’t give him what he wanted.”

Another time she had cuts on her forehead from being assaulted by a man with a beer can. Every time after telling me of these experiences she would smile and say, “It could always be worse.” Then as we parted she would always say, “Thank you for talking to me, God bless you!”

Somehow, some way, I was always better for having visited with her. On occasion I would give her a couple dollars when I had the change and tears would come to her eyes as she thanked me.

I learned, as time went by, she had children who were in grade school. She didn’t say how many children but that she would go to visitation days at their school when she could. They didn’t stay with her because it wasn’t safe; there was program for homeless single mothers to house their children from the streets so they would be safe.

While driving home one afternoon from work the very strong impression came to me that I should give her more than just a couple dollars, maybe twenty or thirty dollars. It really wasn’t that much of a sacrifice for me but it might be a great blessing for her. The thought and feeling did not wane but grew stronger each day so I took action.

Going the grocery store after purchasing a couple of item using my debit card I got an extra thirty dollars. For the next three or four day she was not at her usual post and the money remain my wallet. Finally, one as I was walking to work looking down at the ground thinking of Cindy there was a new one dollar bill crumpled on the grass close to the path where I walked. This path was in the middle of a small park where rarely anyone was ever seen. To me was like manna. It was a sweet whispering of the still small voice ratifying what was soon to happen. Taking the dollar I wrapped it around the three folded tens and put them in my pocket.

Cindy was there, we visited briefly and as I handed her the money she said, “thank you very much,” not knowing what she was really getting. It felt good give with no anticipation of reward for doing so. After than Cindy disappeared and was not at her post for a week.

During that time fears arose in my heart, what if I had offended her, or frightened her into thinking maybe I wanted something in return, or maybe she changed her place of “work”. All these things went through my mind and each day there was a new fellow there and in asking where Cindy was he simply said, “I don’t know, she not here . . .do you have some spare change, any thing would help?”

“No pal, sorry I don’t.” And in truth I had no change. Each day the same scenario was played out. Thoughts and concerns continued to swirl through my mind. Then one day I saw she was back and I truly felt excited to see her. She was wearing a little lipstick and she smiled as I approached. We visit for just a moment and then tears welled up in her eyes as she began thank me, her voice broke up in doing so. She explained that she was able to take her children to a nice place stay and she was able to take a bath for the first time in months. She slept  on a confortable bed and her children were able to watch television which they had not done in longer than she could remember. Her sincerity touched my heart and I wanted to give more, and do more. Maybe somehow help find her a job or do something to get her and her children off the streets. That would be much in the future but her joy and gratitude reminded me of us all when we receive gifts from our Father in heaven after, sometimes, long importuning. As well, it reminded me of a scripture that has had powerful meaning in my life. It comes from the Book of Mormon, Mosiah 3:16-20

And also, ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.

Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—

But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.

For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?. . .

And now, if God, who has created you, on whom you are dependent for your lives and for all that ye have and are, doth grant unto you whatsoever ye ask that is right, in faith, believing that ye shall receive, O then, how ye ought to impart of the substance that ye have one to another.

This blog is not to exonerate my behavior in any way but share a life lesson I learned from the most unlikely source. We truly are all beggars and ought we not at the very least view others with compassion even when we are not able to provide them substance or material blessings. Not all are like Cindy but those who are might just be the tutor we need to see the Lord’s hand in our own lives.