The Bag Lady

She used to sleep in the Fifth Street Post Office.  I could smell her before I rounded the entrance where she slept, standing up, by the public phones.  If she was not asleep, she mumbled incoherently.  Now they close the post office at six to keep the homeless out, so she curls up on the sidewalk, talking to herself, her mouth flapping open as though unhinged, her smells diminished by the breezes.  Our Easter we had so much food left over, I packed it up, excused myself from the others and drove other to Fifth Street. It was awfully cold for the end of March.  Hardly anyone was out, all but a few of the luckless in some warm home or shelter, but I knew I would find her.  She was dressed like always, even in summer: the warm wooly layers concealing her old bent body. Her bony hands clutched the precious shopping cart.  She was always squatting against a wire fence in front of the playground next to the post office. 

'Why didn't she choose a place more protected from the wind?' I thought, and assume she was so crazy she did not have enough sense to huddle in a doorway.  I pulled up mu shiny car to the curb, rolled down the window and said, "Mother..."  I was shocked at the word mother but she was...is..In some way I cannot grasp.  I said again, "Mother, I've brought you some food."  The old woman looked at me quite clearly and distinctly, "Oh thank you but I am quite full now.  Why don't you take it to someone who really needs it?" Her words were clear, her manner gracious.  Then I was dismissed.  Jesus came to our seashore...On what shores will we come to Him?

Peace ♥