Mid-July: Reading Square
She is coming our way- Limping slowly along and pushing a little tote cart. Necklace crosses hang heavily around her neck. I walk towards her. Conversation is started. She sits in the shade for awhile, listening to the rest of the group sing. I ask if there is anything I can pray for. Asthma problems, she says. Taking her hands in mine, I say a simple prayer. And then we sit. “The singing is beautiful,” she says. “Reading needs this. They need Jesus.” As we continue to sit, she tells me of her near-death asthma attack, where Jesus became real to her. She tells of the police officer who was shot a week before. “He was so young. He had a wife and small child. People can be so cruel. They need this. Reading needs Jesus.”
In the hot shade, I watch others of the group praying with people, sharing, singing, and praying in small groups for God’s will to be done here.
(Journal entry July 7: New York City)
Coming away from this day with so much on my heart.- so much burden…There are so many needs, and so many people. How could anyone like me make a difference? …the director of the Bowery Mission shared with us after the service. “You may see all these people in New York, and say they need Jesus. You folks live in a beautiful place. But it isn’t any different there. It may be more hidden, but the need is still there…”
Days such as these prick my conscience. “Alicia, you’ve been so blind. Don’t you care for the souls? What is holding you back from taking the time to listen for the silent cries of humanity? You say you care. Then why don’t you show it?”
Again and again, I am convicted. I feel like I’m back at the start of my journey. The question haunts me again and again, “Do you care, Alicia? Do you really care?”
Perhaps I’m being too hard on myself. Maybe I have cared. But then again, there are many times that I haven’t.
Like the days when the Madison Street girls come to clubs and try my patience once again. When I’m so busy trying to keep up with the group that I hardly notice the homeless man sitting off to the side. When the person across the counter looks like she carries the weight of the world, but I “don’t have time to stop.”
Oh, forgive me.
