Love the Invisible

How often do you reach out to another human?

On Good Friday, I was at Penn Station. A homeless man politely

approached me and asked for money. His pitch was eloquent, heartfelt,
and with wonderful eye contact. I was marveled by his intelligence.

Liquor seeped from his breath, and a cane supported his frail body, but I
couldn’t help but wonder what his story was. If he were a character in my
script or novel, what would I learn from him? What would his arc be? But
this man wasn’t fiction. He was real, and he indeed needed help.

Instead of handing him a ten dollar bill that would have most certainly
been spent on more moonshine, I offered, “Let me buy you lunch.” I
wanted to take him into the restaurant so he could choose what most
appealed to him, but he explained the homeless weren’t allowed.

As I stood on line waiting for food, I glanced back at him, propped

against the wall. People were passing by, as if he didn’t exist. He was
invisible. Totally invisible. My heart broke.

With a bag of warm nourishment, I returned and held out his hot lunch.
As he reached for it, I looked him in the eyes and said, “I love you.” He
was astonished. A tear rolled down his cheek, “I don’t remember the last
time someone said that to me.” I simply repeated, “I love you.” A sweet
smile rose across his parched lips as he declared, “I love you too.”

I smiled and walked away, never to see him again. But for that one day,
that one moment, I hope he felt loved. Those three words were more
nourishing to him than any amount of food.

Try spreading love and see what joy comes back to you.

Jeanne Veillette Bowerman

www.jeannevb.com
Jeanne@jeannevb.com