A local friend of mine shared this story with me. It is a true account of her experience with a beggar.
He stood in a small alcove in the underpass out of the light. When I first noticed him, he looked sinister so I averted my eyes and quickly moved on.
The next time I passed under Amir Timur I walked on the far side of where I had seen him and I looked at him. He stood with crutches. He was missing part of one leg – the left one – below the knee.
Was he there to beg? I wondered. Why would he hide himself while hoping to receive handouts? Who would see him? Who would approach him if they could see him? Perhaps he hid from the malitzia.
No, I thought. He’s hiding in embarrassment. He’s too proud to beg and too desperate not to. He doesn’t want strangers to give him money, but he’s too far gone to not take it when they do.
I kept walking. I gave him nothing.
When I was next in the underpass I walked closer to him watching him. I walked slowly past him very aware of him in my peripheral. After several steps I stopped. I took out a 500 soum* note, walked back and gave it to him. He accepted it, held it against his heart and nodded to me.
I can’t do this when I’m with a friend. They all tell me “He’ll just drink the money away.” He may. I realize that. When someone is that miserable and can find some comfort in alcohol, who am I to think he shouldn’t? I hope he does something responsible with the money, but if he drinks I hope he is soothed. Soothed from pain or soothed from his place in this world.
I passed 500 soum to him once or twice more as he stood in his alcove.
Then one day I saw him somewhere else. He was standing at a bus stop holding sacks from an expensive bazaar. He was standing at the bus stop on two good legs. I stared. I think my mouth hung open waiting for words to explain what I saw. He saw me. We looked at each other for a moment and he lowered his head. We sat on opposite ends of the bus and not once even glanced at each other.
I used to feel haunted by the memory of the sight of him standing pitifully in the dark recess of the underpass waiting for help. Now I am haunted by the suffering of this good soul who knows he’s done wrong and, in public, hangs his head in shame before a woman.
*about 30 cents
I will share with you my personal account of my experience with a local beggar.
Every time I walk to the corner fruit and vegetable stand I pass a legless old man who sits in a wheelchair. He does not actively beg, but people stop and hand him money from their car window or stop on foot to chat and leave a little something with him. One day I decided to give him an apple. It's not much, but, like my friend's friends above, I am wary of giving money to beggars. When I handed him the apple, he cupped it in his hands, brought it to his face, kissed it and smelled it. It's aromatic he told me (in Russian). Then he thanked me.
We have probably all seen people who beg. Some who beg act like we owe them. If we give them a dollar, they look as if to say, "That's it? $1?" I will stop to give this man more fruits and vegetables because he was so appreciative and grateful.
When I consider what the Bible says about giving to the poor I have to realize that it doesn't tell us to give only to those who will be responsible with what we give them. It just tells us to give what we can. That's hard for me to swallow. Just like when the Bible tells us not to judge, it doesn't tell us not to judge incorrectly; it just tells us not to judge. Period. Even if we are right. Even if they are wrong. Don't judge. Period. That's even harder.
I'm making you think today because I have had to think. Next week I'll share some funny things that have happened recently to lighten up a little.
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