A Little Help

I stood on the street corner and held the sign.

"A little help" is what it read.

I stood there embarrassed as cars waited at the stoplight.  I looked down at the cardboard sign so I didn't have to make eye contact.  First two cars stopped, then three, and still two more added to their number before the light gave reprieve.  Panic set in.  What would I actually do if someone gave me money?  Would I graciously, humbly take it?  Or would I decline their offer and explain I was only part of an experiment?

I stood on street corner and held the sign.

It was an object lesson - an education in empathy - of what our homeless friends feel everyday.  Vulnerable, needing the help of another, shame, poverty...out of options except to stand with a sign.

For the upwardly mobile woman, being out of options is akin to hell.  I like change.  I need a way of escape when faced with discomfort.  Options are tokens I collect on my shelf and run to cash in when I've grown tired of adversity.  But the woman who holds the sign while her stomach grumbles, well, she has no currency to spend in this choice-grabbing economy.

I stood on the street corner and held the sign.

The lesson was learned.  Jesus should have known that.  Until He showed up the next morning....

Wrestling with the Sermon on the Mount, anger and two, recent wound-causing relationships should have been enough for Him, right?  I just wanted Him to give me compassion and some options.  He gave me neither.  Instead, He handed me the sign.

"You have not murdered anyone...but you are angry with them.  In my book, that is the same thing.  The attitude of your heart that justifies your anger is the same that would allow you to murder them.  No options.  Oh, and Tara...blessed are the poor in spirit."

I stood confused in my living room and held the sign.

Now, I figured I had a pretty good working, commentary definition of poor in spirit but I never really had to actually live it.  Up to this point, the upwardly-mobile-Christian in me had been pretty good at seeing options and seizing opportunities.  As the anger in my heart seethed at the offenses endured, I turned to my option trophy case only to find the shelves of selection were bare.....except for a ripped cardboard sign that read "A Little Help", and the echo of a Voice that reminded me "you're blessed when you are at the end of your rope.  When you acknowledge the poverty of your heart, only then are you able to receive a little help from Me. "

I stood before Jesus and held the sign.

Eyes downcast, ashamed at my failure, how could I make eye contact with Him when I couldn't even make eye contact with those drivers the day before?  That was an experiment; a little play acting.  This was not.  I had options yesterday.  I had none now.  The poor - and the poor in spirit - know this.  They know the meaning of poverty.  They know their lives depend on "a little help" (or a lot!!)

I stand before Jesus and hold my sign.

"A little help" is what it reads.

I am still angry, still struggling, but still with no choices - needing "a little help".   All options are gone because my heart is the problem.  It is poor and bankrupt. 

 And there are no options for the heart - save One.