Compassion

I've written before about the many homeless that are in Honolulu and Waikiki.  They really break my heart.  I wonder how they got here, where are their families, do their families even know where they are.  Was it drugs, alcohol, or mental illness that drove them away?   Behind each face is a story.

This morning I went out for a run.  I was tired, but hadn't run since Saturday so I pushed myself out the door.  I picked up the pace and ran my first mile in just over ten minutes.  And that was the end because 30 seconds later I tripped.  I went down hard!  I'm fine although both hands and knees are scraped.

As I sat there on the ground trying to catch my breath I heard a voice, "Are you okay?  Hey, are you okay?"  "I think so..."  I looked into the eyes of a homeless woman.  She had probably slept on the nearby sidewalk, possibly a bench.  I got up and assessed the damage.  She came over, "you sure you're okay?"  "I think so, is that restroom open," I said as I showed her my damaged hands.  "Yes... I have some bandaids.  You need some peroxide."  I thanked her and said, "I live across the street and have what I need there."

Not what you have in mind when you think of a homeless person, is it?  Her caring and compassion really touched my heart.  If I would have needed help getting up, I know she would have given it. I've never considered myself to be prejudice.  I was raised to love everyone, no matter their skin color.  This year has taught me to also love those whose skin has been colored by life on the streets.