Tuesday - Boston MA

Boston 

8.8.23

I did not cut the cucumbers.

I did not warm up the chicken.

Food packed as it was, cold out of the fridge and I too lazy to prepare it on behalf of a brother or sister. Plastic utensils at least. Veggies half going bad. I still would have eaten them, but I gave out of my leftovers. Not my excess. My unwanted leftovers. 

How I should have liked to have made them a plate, or wrapped the sandwich in a napkin for one of these souls on the streets.

“Yes! Yes!” 

They exclaimed when Mom offered them the bag. There they were. Lying under a canopy to take shelter from the rainstorm. Everyone wet and hungry, and still I knew it would be a matter of minutes before I was dry and satisfied. Here we were sharing the same sidewalk in this moment, but our paths would split in an instant again. So, I let the rain drip into my eyes and off my bangs. And I walked on down the street, turned the corner, and took a seat into my air conditioned leather seated red Toyota Avalon which, in a few hours, would drive us 200 miles away from this city, these streets, and these people. 

Lord, have mercy on my selfishness. Teach me to be foolishly generous. I want my heart to soften for Your children. It was You who was hungry, every day outside our Airbnb. Every day, You came in a dozen different faces. Our fridge was nowhere near being in want of more contents. Yet, they stayed put till the last day, and I practically threw away the remains to them instead of to the garbage. To You.