Starting
Point Given a choice, accept the love
By ASHLEY MERRYMAN
I played God tonight.
Not in a dramatic way. Nothing particularly cataclysmic or
earthshaking. Nor did I have a sense of omnipotence -- or anything else
starting with omni. Nevertheless, I felt for a moment that I had an
inkling of Gods relationship with us, from the other point of view.
I went on my usual trip to a convenience store for my usual
six-pack of soda, when the usual thing for living in a city happened: A
homeless man called out: Can I have some change?
What do you want? I said, smiling.
Often, when I say that, the person is so surprised, hes
speechless. Hes so used to begging for leftovers and scraps that he
cant imagine he has a choice. But Ive always figured that if you
are only going to eat once today, it should be something you like. So I always
ask. Never just hand him something.
This man yelled from across the parking lot,
Money.
No, I mean, what do you want to eat? Ill buy you
whatever you want, I said, glancing at the cigarette in his left hand,
but it has to be food. No cigarettes.
But thats what I want. I want money for
cigarettes.
I said, as gently as I could, No, I wont give you
money for cigarettes. Just food. But you can have anything you want.
Cigarettes.
Cigs or nothing. And he chose nothing. I couldnt believe
it.
Saddened, I went into the store. I thought all the while,
theres so much here I could give him, if only he had let me. That fresh
loaf of bread and the jar of peanut butter -- that could feed him for a couple
days. Look at that milk, all those juices calling from behind their polished
walls of glass. Perhaps I should have brought him into the store with me. If
hed seen all the things he could choose from, surely he would have
forgotten about the cigarettes in favor of some crackers or a sweet roll. Maybe
I should buy him something anyway.
No.
As much as it hurt my heart to do so, I resisted. I wasnt
going to force it on him. I wasnt going to make him accept my gift. It
was his decision.
As I walked out to my car, the man once again called out -- though
this time, a little softly. A little hesitantly.
Maam?
I was half-afraid to answer, not wanting to hear him ask for
cigarettes once more. Yes?
He looked nervous, like he realized he might have blown his
chance. Uh, could I have something to eat?
I nearly wept for joy. But I didnt want to embarrass him so
I just said: What do you want?
Chips.
Chips? Thats it?
He self-consciously nodded.
Without another word, I headed back in the store.
I nearly danced my way through the tiny shopping aisles. I happily
fretted over which of those turkey sandwiches they keep in the refrigerator he
would like best. I carefully picked out the best of the ripe yellow bananas.
And the biggest bag of chips.
I was so glad he changed his mind. All this he would have missed
out on, and all he had to do was say, Yes. I know it wasnt
all that much, but as convenience stores go, it was the makings of a gourmet
meal.
Without a word, I handed the filled brown paper bag to the man. He
took it with a quiet, simple thank you, and immediately started eating the
chips.
I sighed. Not wanting him to miss the really good part by filling
up on the little things, I said, Eat the sandwich.
Oh. Yeah. He looked in the bag to see what else I had
given him.
As I drove away, I wondered: How many times has God stood at the
doorway of my life asking, What do you want?
And I picked cigarettes.
Hey, Mister, can I have some change?
What do you want?
Cigarettes.
Ill give you anything else -- love, friends, kindness,
compassion.
Cigarettes. All I had to say was, Sure. Id love
something. Any little thing would be fine. But instead, no, Ill
just stand out here in the cold and dark and misery. Ill wait here in my
loneliness and despair.
Oh, the disappointment. The sadness that I had turned away so
much. The disbelief. That, given the choice between everything and nothing, I
would choose nothing.
I cant even imagine what I must have missed out on, what
care and concern, what love had been mine for the taking. How much more I would
have received, if only I had said, Yes?
But if I have the courage, I, too, can call out. I, too, can
change my mind, accept an offered gift. And if I do, I hope I realize
whats the good part -- not miss it because Im all caught up in the
little things.
I hope that I realize that a gift of love and peace, of friends
and families, of laughter and tears is a gift far greater than I could have
ever asked for or ever dreamed of. And I hope I remember to say a simple thank
you.
Ashley Merryman, a former member of the Clinton administration,
is a writer and attorney in Los Angeles. Her e-mail address is
AKMerryman@aol.com
National Catholic Reporter, February 2,
2001
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