I was walking out of Fado on Friday night, after having drinks with Molly, Avi and Jess.
A short, African-American man approached me as I walked home with my headphones in my ears.
He spoke, and I pulled them out.
“Could you spare some change? I haven’t eaten today,” he said.
“Why don’t you just let me buy you something to eat, then?” I replied.
He said, “Ok.”
And so, we started walking. With his plastic bags and limp. And my Michael Kors bag from last season and four-inch platform heels.
We marched through the people dining on patios. And the beautiful women. And the European luxury cars.
As we walked, I looked at him and said, “Why are you on the streets?”
“Alicia, right?” he said. “That’s what you said your name is?”
“I’m a junkie,” he said as he stumbled over his words.
“Hm,” I uttered.
I let those words roll through my head. Words of sincere honesty. Words void of B.S. Words not hiding anything. He answered my question, after all.
And I only had one response.
“Do you believe in Jesus?”
Without a second to give it a thought, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Yes.”
I shot a look back and said, “Well, you know that it is through Jesus that you can be healed, right?”
He looked down and mumbled, “I know.”
We walked a few more steps in silence.
And then he said, “But I’m not ready.”
And that got me thinking.
Why aren’t we ready to give up our vices–whatever they may be?
Why do we hold on to that which brings us down, when the answer is so easy?
All we have to do is be ready.
And grace is ours.