On cold days, this is how people look, buried underneath piles of blankets to stay warm.
It was the first bitterly cold day of the year. The wind howled off the interstate, galloping full force down the lonely road. With only abandoned lots and few buildings, nothing broke its strength.
As prepared as I was for the frigid temperature -- wearing hat, gloves, and multiple layers -- I still felt a bone chill.
A homeless woman, one of my friends, was buried underneath a pile of blankets. She barely showed her face to talk.
Then, all of a sudden, she sat up, inquisitively. She looked up at my head, and then asked, "Elisabeth, do you have any more hats?"
I gulped, "Do you not have one?"
"Well, I did, she said. But it itches my head and is very dirty."
I felt the familiar tug inside my heart.
Give her your hat.
Ugh. In the quiet of my heart, this was my response, "No, God. No. This is my favorite hat. I love everything about this hat, and
you
know that."
It was indeed my favorite of favorite hats. It is, as you can see below, white with a little faux fur on top. I felt cute in it and like how the little fur on top bounced. (I know, I'm like a two year old.)
I ignored the cue. Again it came ...
Your hat, Elisabeth
.
Again, I refused. I rationalized, "I don't have another hat with me. It's a really cold day. What will
I
wear if I give her this?"
As the morning progressed, I felt that tug to give her my hat another several times, but each time, I said NO. "She might lose it, or get it dirty. I'm sure it wouldn't mean as much to her as it does to me," I thought.
I wish I could tell you that before I left, I handed over my hat. I wish I could tell you that I listened to the gentle prompting and shared something precious to me.
But I did not.
As the days and weeks passed, I remembered this opportunity I had to give my friend my hat. And then, I remembered two times before where I experienced a similar prompt and actually did give away what was mine.
Once was
. The other was my sunglasses.
The Sunglasses
As we sat on the concrete near the shelter many months ago, a woman who is homeless started telling me how someone had stolen her sunglasses. Because she had to be outside for hours every day, and because waiting in line at the shelter often meant no shade, she had been sunburned in and by her eyes.
I was wearing sunglasses on that day. The sunglasses I had on were my only pair.
But then I felt that familiar tug, the same one I had felt months before with the shoes.
Before I got up to leave, I asked her if she would like my sunglasses. I was kind of hoping she'd say no. She jumped at the offer, "Yes! I would love them! Thank you so much!"
And just like that, they were gone. As I got up to walk back to my car, my homeless friend 'Tom' who pushes a baby stroller around (for real), came up to me. "Elisabeth, do you need some sunglasses?"
I laughed. He had just seen me give mine away, so the answer seemed pretty obvious. But I humored him. "Yes, Tom, I do."
"Would you like these?" Tom asked, pulling a pair of black sunglasses out of one of his bags. I couldn't help but smile.
"Are you sure? Don't you need them?"
"No, I already have a pair of my own. I won these at a grocery store event. They had a fair set up in the parking lot, and I won them in the basketball toss."
I was touched. Here, I had given away my only pair of sunglasses. I wasn't super excited about having to buy a new pair. And then, before I could take a breath, God provided new ones, through my homeless friend Tom.
Really?
Think. If I had held onto my sunglasses, ignored the prompting, I would have missed out on
this
.
What's even better about the sunglasses is that they're Coke Zero sunglasses (see below). #fancy
--
And this is why, over the subsequent weeks after
not
having given away my hat, I felt sad. I knew I had missed an opportunity. And just like with the shoes and the sunglasses, God doesn't open something like that up to us without wanting to do more for us than we do for another person.
I wondered what would have happened if I had responded "Yes" and given my hat away.
I tried to make up for it. I went back to my homeless friend the next week to ask if she still needed a hat. But she had gotten one in the meantime.
I told the Lord that I was sorry. I asked him to give me other opportunities like these, and I told him I would be faithful to give next time, if only he would help me.
Is there something in your life that you feel God is trying to pry your fingers from, but you keep holding on? He is inviting us into
more
, which sometimes paradoxically means letting go of what we already have.
--
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