.twas the season.

This is a journal entry I wrote from Christmas, but I thought I'd share....

Today, in light of the Christmas season, I thought I'd attempt to tackle some Christmas shopping, my first post-race attempt. I convinced myself I wouldn’t cry, dared to put on regular mascara and headed towards the mall. Pulling into one of the more affluent shopping centers near my house, I battled my way to a parking space and took a minute to prepare for the holiday madness that I was sure to encounter.

In a desperate attempt to avoid the energized soccer moms around me, I was focused in on the sound of my heels on the concrete. But, before I got safely inside the front doors my sense memory took off running. There was something oddly familiar here. That smell. What was it? Something international. I began looking around and had a flashback to the streets of Johannesburg, South Africa when I would sit between the hair salon and Shell Station with my 67 year old, homeless friend, Walter. I flash back to reality to see a man outside the clothing boutique I'm about to enter.

His tattered, mismatched clothing hangs loosely on his skinny frame as he sifts through the garbage in search of food. His hair is pulled back by a camouflage beanie while the ends matte together in greasy clumps at each shoulder, and his dress pants are smudged with what I'm praying is dirt. Empty fast food bags overflow from each pocket of his fishing vest, and a nervous twitch seems to have him gnawing on his bottom lip. The look on his face as he digs through that garbage tears at my heart. I watch him as he lifts out a Steak ‘n Shake cup, rips off the lid, and licks the shake residue lining the cup.

Without a word, I head for Panera. I buy a pastry, a drink, a cup of soup, and a sandwich, and start looking for my hungry friend. No where to be found! I scan each trash-bin around the parking lot and start to panic. An entire year of tears start to heat behind my eyes, and for the next 45 minutes I drive around the adjacent shopping centers pleading with the Lord to let me find him.

Finally, I find him cradled up on a bench outside Walgreen's.

"I've got some extra grub," I said. "You interested?"

He warily excepts the gift, seeming a bit skeptical, and clutchs it to his chest, never letting his eyes leave my face. I could tell by his gaze that he was delayed to follow me and might not be comprehending exactly what it was I was trying to do. So, I launch into chatty-Kristen mode and hope for the best. I yapped for a few minutes about the soup, Christmas chaos, and what a beautiful day it was turning out to be....I watched him relax and ease the death-grip on the paper bag.

"Oh, and there is a pastry in there that you're NOT ALLOWED to touch until the soup is gone. Do you understand?!? Protein first."

He takes a minute to process what I've said. I watch it register and a smile spread across his face.

I wish him a Merry Christmas and head off to my car. Shifting into drive though, I watch as he hops off the bench, waves enthusiastically, and screams "Merry Christmas" at the top of his lungs with a huge smile.

I suppressed all the enthusiasm I really felt, gave him a wave, and smiled. "Merry Christmas, friend."

My heart was full.

I was almost giddy as I drove out of the parking lot. Watching that man smile and wave was all the gift that I needed that holiday season. I was overwhelmed. At the same time though, my heart was shattered into a million tiny pieces as I thought of the dozens of families that had scurried past him in that shopping center, dodging eye contact, and pretending as if they hadn't seen him at all. It would have taken 15 minutes and a few dollars to fill that man's hungry belly.

How often have I overlooked the prayers of brothers and sisters because I was too busy? How often do I intentionally close my eyes to the needs of others because I'm too worried about meeting my own needs and following my own agenda? How often do we have the desire to help but justify not acting because we assume someone else will take over? If I learned anything this year, I've learned that when the Lord speaks to my heart, that He does so with intention and purpose. Perhaps the hungry man didn't break others the way it broke me that afternoon. So, I'm to take what He speaks to me and prayerfully consider what He'll have me do with it. Sometimes that soft voice means I need to spend some serious time in prayer. Other times it means offering a kind word to someone who has hurt me. And sometimes, it means that I give up my daily Starbucks for an extra sandwich.

How can I better listen? Lord, help attune our ears to Your voice.