I grew up in a challenging setting that created empathy for the strugglers, the underdogs. I was humbled each time my mom sent me into our neighborhood store to make purchases with food stamps. I remember the sick feeling that started rising in my stomach immediately as I headed toward the checkout. It was unlikely that I would not know a handful of people shopping at any given time. More times than I can count, someone at least slightly familiar would get in line behind me. I automatically looked up at the checker, grabbed just enough for my hands to hold items, and professed I had forgotten something. Then I backtracked and quickly searched the store for anyone who might still possibly get in line behind me and realize my secret. Often, I figured out just enough time to get through the line and be in the clear. Once accomplished and out of the store, it was like exhaling air I didn’t know was threatening to choke me.
On other occasions, when my mom took us shopping for clothes or goodies at the Salvation Army, I asked to sit in the car. At this point, no one could convince me that one man’s junk is another’s treasure. I slid down as far as I could go in the backseat. Then I pretended to be anywhere else. Where it didn’t matter if my secret was safe. Somewhere else meant I did not have to embrace the shame of my secondhand life. Wherever my thoughts took me, I only returned when I heard the car door opening. In stark comparison, today, I’m the first to want to hit a good thrift store full of bargains. I often get positive comments on my treasure. However, it is still apparent to me when I confess; it’s not just kids who have preconceived ideas about secondhand shopping.
Especially during the holidays, the underdogs are not hard to find. Often hanging out close to some store, they may be holding signs with various messages: “lost my job”, “need help”, “will work for food”. The lady’s cardboard that grabbed my attention today said, “Need help to buy my three kids Christmas”. One of the children was by her side. I noticed her as I entered the lot. But now, leaving an hour later, I had a question to answer, will I stop and help? I do not often carry cash, but today I had some. I slowed and rolled down my window and handed her a small bill. I saw her eyes light up a little and say, “Thank you, God bless you.” While not about me or anything I have done, if I feel the heart tug and have it, I’m giving. When my daughter was young, she cried once when I didn’t stop. Even though I had to go to the bank first to make it happen, we returned.
As soon as I slowed and handed money to the lady, I saw another lady to the right side, waiting to turn into Wal-Mart. She gave me a less than friendly look. Although this quick transaction took mere seconds, she was clearly either perturbed about her short wait or that I dared to hand this person some money. I suppose I should assume she desperately needed those seconds instead of the other possibilities that tried to enter my mind. But that is what happens to the best of us. We want to place our beliefs where they do not belong.
I have had others share their two cents worth about giving to these people. I had acquaintances and even family members wonder if I’m just gullible, question if I know I am being scammed, and even suggest that we wait to see what the person I handed money to brought out of the store. Wow! I’ve heard people say that it’s not their job to pay for them, and they should get a job! And so many other assuming negatives.
Years ago, I tried to instill in my children a lesson the self-righteous, perhaps well-intended but possibly confused on-lookers, never learned. If compelled to, go ahead and give. In the best-case scenario, you truly helped someone. And guess what? If they lied to you, scammed you, bought a bottle, or anything else, God will sort that out. That is the part of it that truly is not our job!
Hoping you find a place in my space! ♥