A prayer for beggars

I admit, I watched her carefully to see if the limp was legit.

I wondered what it would be like to need handouts to survive and why someone would stand all day on a median instead of finding a job. Was she homeless? Jobless? Or was begging her job, and her Honda was parked in the Burger King parking lot across the street?

I was judgey and sympathetic at the same time, and I hated myself for it.

I noticed she didn’t look at any of us drivers; she just stared straight ahead, holding her sign steady. I thought she must get tired of drivers not wanting to meet her gaze, themselves staring straight ahead over their steering wheels, uncomfortable and conflicted about her presence.

I looked ahead, too, praying about what to do. Then I pulled out my wallet and found a $5.00 bill. Not sacrificial, not risky, but something. I wondered if my motives were truly kind or just guilty.

The light turned green, and I rolled down my window and held out the bill. She was ready for it, so she must have been watching me, too. She knows the signs of a driver fumbling for a purse, considering what to give. Acting all casual, like giving to beggars is an ordinary experience.

“Thank you! God bless you!” she said.

“Have a good day,” I said.

But our eyes barely met.