Synchronicity
An overweight, black man in loose-fitting, wrinkled clothes, about sixty years old, said “Hello” to me as I grabbed my pocketbook from my trunk. I was curious because I was a half hour early for my hair cut appointment and I never park in the lot that I was in. Plus, I seldom stuff my pocketbook in the trunk.
Before I had turned around completely, he moved into story. He told me that his wife was in the hospice ward at a local hospital and he had hitch hiked to the mall to find a job stocking shelves at Office Max. I told him I was a member of Glad Helpers and explained how we send healing prayers to people who requested them. When I asked him what his wife’s name was, he looked surprised and said without hesitation, “Margaret.” Then I asked him for his name and said that I would include his name on the healing list as well as the names of his wife’s medical team. He wiped a tear from his eye and continued, “I tried to talk to two white women earlier about my wife and my circumstances and one spat at me and the other one hollered at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
He nodded and continued, “You seem like a kind woman and I am ashamed to ask you if you could spare a few dollars so I could buy something to eat before I go back to the hospital?”
Before I left home I had stuffed a $50 bill for my haircut in my wallet next to three one-dollar bills. Although he asked for a few dollars, I knew three dollars would not be enough for a meal and I also felt I would be disrespectful to offer him so little. Besides, I could charge my haircut.
Without trying to reason with myself, I pulled the fifty-dollar bill out of my wallet and handed it to him. In the moment, I was not concerned if he was telling me the truth or scamming me. All I was aware of was how circumstances converged and the two of us were face to face in a crowded parking lot. Handing him an unexpected gift filled me with joy and a sense of being in the right place at the right time. I was delighted to practice generosity and he was a grateful participant.
I watched him as he opened his eyes wide. Clearly, he had not expected to receive a fifty-dollar bill.
“Praise the Lord,” he said, “Praise the Lord. You know, lady I don’t drink and I don’t do drugs, and I try to be responsible but the cancer made us poor. We lost our house and my wife needed me to be with her and I lost my job.”
I assured him that I would keep him and his wife in my prayers.
We hugged and I watched him walk away, shaking his head and muttering words that I could not hear. I too walked away, shaking my head and sending out gratitude for the opportunity to be a channel of blessings.
