Five Dollars

Today I drew 20 dollars. 5 went to a present to Eileen. Or at least delivering it. 5 went to my lunch, for the most part. 5 went to my dinner. And the last 5. The last 5..

I walked the bridge to harbourfront and calmly walked past her at first. I only had 10 left in my wallet then. Too much. I walked on.

I ate dinner, ruminating about life and the day that had been wasted. I thought and thought and then I prayed and wrote and planned. Disciplined, I said I would be. Controlled. I had worries and plans for my money as well, but I did not write those down. At least, not yet.

I wrote and planned and wrote some more, dreaming hopes into reality in black ink. In this stood hope, hope that consequence would bring fruit of dreams. I wrote and planned till they turned off the lights and, slightly embarrassed though with no cause to be, I packed up and left.

I walked, passing late diners, alone and in pairs. I thought only about the ones alone, in particular one, who sat eating, his back straight and eyes looking into a world behind his bowl of rice and his bowl of soup. I bet he was Japanese, then Korean, then Japanese again. I bet he worked hard. And then I forgot him as I looked at myself in my mind's eye again.

Down, towards the bridge yet again, passing stall carts fitted with Ikea lamps, ingenious I thought; wrapped in thick cloth and trusting in the building security for their goods' safety; hopes and dreams in a small stall. I walked past them and lingered on a lady, dressed young but wearing weathered wrinkles which were weary, staring at dresses and fittings too young for her body, yet right for her soul, so she thought, perhaps. I walked on.

At the bridge once again, just before the stairs down to the bus stop, there she still was, holding the pens in her right hand and tissues in her left, holding, approaching, asking, pleading.

Old clothes, weary eyes, weathered skin, brittle voice; holding, approaching, asking, pleading.

I held up my left hand and stepped past.

Halfway down the stairs I remembered what I was living for.

At the bottom of the stairs a dozen questions came to mind; was she truthful, was I rich, was it wrong, was the bus coming.. And so on. 5.. Not the smallest note, nor too large a gift. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, embarrassed and with a cause to be, surreptitiously glancing up to see her state and the rejections she faced.

I took the last 5 and climbed the stairs, not looking up, till I reached her, placed the money in her hands, refused the items she held, and walked back down.

I forgot to say 耶稣保佑你. Neither did I take her hand and hold it to let her know He cared. Nor was my smile the brightest to shine His light her way. I was a mumble, a small gift giver, a sigh. I couldn't tell if I wished her well or if I were simply confirming my calling or even just assuaging my conscience.

I realized how much change I needed, once again, and sat down once again to think, write an plan.

And now, by His grace, to do.