An Easter Devotion by Leanne Friedman
Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.
Matthew 25:40
HER. HER and hers. Never will I forget the sudden brief encounter that we had that night. A hot Chicago night.
Tom and I had just emerged from a Polish cafe whose pierogis were celebrated in Lonely Planet. Our destination was Grant Park and the trains that would take us to Rosemont and my extended family, gathering for a weekend wedding.
It was August 15, 2013, a Thursday night. Darkness had settled; the side street west of Michigan Avenue was unevenly and dimly lit.
HER sudden appearance on that sidewalk startled me. She was a young, heavy set Black woman, maybe 30 years old, clutching in each hand a pre school-aged child. She asked us for money to feed her children.
We were alone on that narrow street. I froze. Scared. What if she was a plant? What if there was an accomplice hiding in one of the many unlit doorways? My money was in my wallet, at the bottom of a too-large travel purse. Digging down to my wallet seemed too risky.
We quickly refused and quickened our pace past HER.
The expression on her face and the despair on the faces of her children are branded on my soul.
Regret and shame mushroomed in my head as we boarded the train to Rosemont and the shelter of my gathered family.
Back at the hotel, I recounted the experience and the despair to a cousin’s wife. She reassured me that a woman like HER probably made $100,000 a year (with a scam) like that.
Adrenaline pumping, I challenged that assumption on the spot: A (40 hour work week) x 50 weeks = 2000 hours. To make $100,000 @ year, the woman would have to average $50 @ hour.
On January 12, 2007, an informally dressed violinist, Joshua Bell, had played 6 classical pieces on a 1713 Stradivarius violin in a D.C. subway station at rush hour. More than a thousand people passed by. Bell netted $32.
The night that I met HER, she and the children were alone on a dark street, way past the children’s bed time.
I never will forget HER.
There were many people asking for money on the Chicago streets that weekend; so many more than we are used to seeing in Boston. In a small way, I changed my behavior. I kept some money in my pockets. I couldn’t give to everyone, but I gave to some. I was constantly looking for HER.
For the past six years, the donations that we make to a variety of charities bring me back to that night. When the printed or online forms show boxes for “In Memory of” or “In Honor of”,…….
It’s HER. I will never know HER name.
May we remember. May we do what we can, where we are. Amen