Personal Experience in Passaic, NJ
It was a long day.... but not only for me!
First… You should know…
I have mixed feelings about sharing this story. Part of me hesitates because I don’t want it to sound like I’m trying to draw attention to myself, as if this were about doing something good and wanting to be noticed for it. It’s not that. I promise. This experience wasn’t about me at all. It was about what I learned in a moment that has stayed with me since it happened yesterday.
Sometimes God teaches us through moments that catch us off guard, when fear meets compassion, and we have to choose which voice to follow. This was one of those moments.
The Encounter
Have you ever had an experience that made you a little concerned for your own safety, yet left you surprised by how it turned out?
I had one of those moments yesterday (Saturday).
I was helping a friend move, back and forth all day between apartments in New Jersey. It was the kind of long, exhausting day when you just want to finish and go home. But all through the day, I noticed a woman scurrying up and down the street, crying, yelling, and clearly in distress. She looked to be in her sixties, limping, her voice rising and falling as people passed by pretending not to see.
I did the same. I watched from a distance, uneasy and unsure. At one point I even rolled up the windows and locked the doors, nervous about what she might do. She kept circling the block, hour after hour, her pain spilling out where no one wanted to touch it. She was clearly having a mental/emotional crisis. I would say she was having a “psychiatric emergency” … ALL DAY LONG!
Late in the afternoon, I was on the phone with a friend when I heard her again. I opened the window so he could hear what had been echoing all day. That’s when she stopped, looked at me, and said softly but urgently, “Can you help me?”
I asked, “What’s wrong?” and told her that she looks very upset.
Her story came out in fragments. Her only friend was moving away. She said she had no one left to care for her. People had beaten her. She was afraid and said she wanted to kill herself.
I felt a heaviness in my chest as she that!
I told her gently that I didn’t want her to do that — that it would make me sad, and that I could see how much she was hurting. I didn’t have much to offer except concern and a few kind words. I said I didn’t have any cash, maybe just a little change. She nodded, not really interested in the money.
I handed her what I had anyway, a handful of coins, nothing significant, and told her to add it to what she had. She said that she already had two dollars that she could add it to, and buy dinner for her and her mother.
She just seemed relieved that someone finally listened. For the first time all day, she wasn’t invisible. She wasn’t “the crazy woman on the sidewalk.” She was a person.
The storm that had followed her all day began to quiet. It wasn’t because of what I gave her; it was because she no longer felt completely alone.
When she walked away, I sat there for a while, the street suddenly very quiet. It struck me how many times I’d seen her that day and done nothing. And yet, when I finally looked at her, I realized that Christ had been walking past me all day long, waiting for me to notice.
After Reflection
I’ve thought a lot about this since it happened.
She passed by me many times before I finally rolled the window down, and that was just to see if my friend could hear her. Each time, I told myself I was too busy, or it wasn’t safe, or someone else would help. Maybe Jesus really did walk by fifteen times before I finally looked Him in the eyes.
That thought humbles me.
I wish this was about me being a hero, but instead, I wonder why it took me so long to find the courage to look this woman in the eye and share something that she really needed, and it wasn’t money!
I wish I had responded in a compassionate way much sooner.
I could almost hear Jesus say, “You saw Me at last—and now you’ll see Me sooner next time.”
God doesn’t scold us for hesitating. He teaches us through it. Every time we finally listen, even late, grace chisels away a little more fear and lets light through the cracks.
So I carry this experience with me, not as guilt, but as invitation. There will be other voices, other cries, other souls who need to be seen. And maybe next time, I’ll open the window sooner, with a little more courage to share what I can, whether a few nickels and dimes, or more importantly, a few words of kindness.
Not because I want to put a spotlight on myself that makes me look good, not because I was the center of the story, but because Christ was.
May we never overlook the cry of a soul in need, and may our hearts always stay open to the quiet ways God walks among us.