I pulled up to the stop light. I took the pause as an opportunity to warm my cold and weary hands. I had forgotten that it was frigid, having been in the South for two weeks. It's not a whole lotta time, but time enough to distance myself from the inevitability of the season's frost.
As I listen to radio stories of people who's lives were dedicated to the service of goodwill in my headphones, I see a man shaking a cup, mumbling vague blessings and requests for change to stalled cars. I noticed his many unmatched layers of winterproof clothes, his right pant leg tucked into his sock, his youthful, honest face.
I made a quick and equally vague judgment about this man, the path he chose that lead him here, what it might be like for him to rely on the kindness of strangers, for him to see me with a set of headphones presumably attached to some expensive gadget, and how many times he's repeated this almost songlike phrase of supplication to unsympathetic glass panes. I look forward away from him, breathing hot air between my palms and rubbing them together, eyeing the light for the moment it would change when suddenly I hear his voice, louder this time, and different.
I look to my left and the man is asking me a question, holding out his left hand.
He says, "I said, 'do you need some gloves?'"
I look to his outstretched hand. In it clutched a pair of cotton gloves.
"Yeah," he said. "I got an extra pair."
"Thank you," I said, in audible disbelief.
He hands them to me, and, not allowing the hesitation of prudence to get in between my hands and warmth, I put them on.
I pause again to look at the gloves. In a moment, the man who I had written off as a taker, a begger, a user and abuser of basic human kindness extended his own simple gesture of the same kindness.
I was no longer an observer of a drama of one of life's many conundrums, but had been drawn in as a player. Confronted with the reality that this was not just some other person's story, but now mine.
By the time I gathered my thoughts, ready to affirm the man who had invited me into his dream that he would be rewarded through God's organic law of karma, the give and take of the Universe, the "if you want it, give it" nature of all things, I looked behind me and saw that he was at the end of a line of twenty cars by then, repeating his musical phrase, blessing all he encountered whether they gave or didn't.
The light changed, I pushed forward, tears swelled in my eyes. All at once I reflected in rememberance a lesson I've learned time and time again:
You cannot hide from the Universe. You cannot pretend to be an observer of a story that isn't yours. Be not afraid, however, when the drama you see draws you in, for not only are you IN the Universe, but you ARE the Universe and the Universe is you.
I am no longer afraid of this winter. For on the darkest days, I have my pen, my paper, my he(art) from which to draw what spills on the page. For on the longest nights, I have love, companionship, and Belief to keep the Light bright within me.
For even when my hands are cold and weary, God is there to hand me gloves, even when God has nothing left to give.
