To be hungry

I got off the bus today and crossed the street to my apartment. An older woman with a cane was also crossing, slowly and feebly. As I raced past her on my able legs, I could hear her moaning. Her appearance and the intensity of that sound struck me, and in the dead center of the busy road, I grabbed her arm and said, "It will be okay."

What? It will be okay?

I don't know why I said that. The traffic waited for us to make it safely to the other side of the road, and there the lady whispered to me.

"I don't want to ask for help."
"What do you need?"
"I don't want to ask for help."
I said it again: "It will be okay."

Finally, she began to cry and told me she hadn't eaten for two days and she couldn't afford her diabetes medication.

"Do you have some change? I just want a burger."

A burger?

I usually (honestly) don't have change, but today I had $1.10. I gave it to her, and then I remembered exactly what it feels like to be hungry. Thank you, Ramadan.

I said to wait there at the bus stop, and I promised her I'd be back. Up in my apartment, I scavenged for food to give her. I felt like I didn't have anything appropriate. My food stores consist mainly of raw vegetables, couscous and quinoa, dry chickpeas, and dry granola.

I grabbed a brown lunch bag and threw in a can of corn, about a bowl's worth of cereal in a plastic bag, half of loaf of rye bread, some pretzels, an apple, and a banana. I really didn't know what else to give her.

It reminded me of that Bible verse that asks what type of father would give his son a snake when the son asked for a fish. I don't know exactly what Jesus was getting at there.

But what I'm getting at is that I'm not sure if I would have helped her if the memory of being hungry had not been so fresh in my mind. Maybe if this had been last week, I would have only given her my change and insisted that it would be okay...