Deep Breaths A Pen and a Lesson The other day, I was walking from the metro station to work. I passed a woman sitting in front of the station, surrounded by several bags. I had my AirPods in and my music turned up. She said something to me, but I couldn’t hear clearly. I told her I had given my last bit of cash the other day. She looked me in the eye and said softly, “I never ask people for money. I was asking if you had a pen.” I froze. My heart sank. I had assumed—one that revealed more about me than about her. I advocate for people on the margins every day, yet in that moment, I failed to see the person right in front of me. All day, I couldn’t shake it. I kept hoping I’d see her again so I could apologize. On my way home, I did. She was still there, still writing. I stopped and told her I had been hoping to see her again. I said I was sorry. She nodded. “People make assumptions all the time,” she said. “I’m between homes, but I’m writing my story.” She had what she needed—a pen and her own voice. I noticed she was sitting near Union Station, where the National Guard still patrols. Others experiencing homelessness had been pushed away weeks before. But she remained, writing. That moment has stayed with me. It reminded me that advocacy isn’t just about policies, programs, or protests. It’s about presence. About slowing down enough to see people, to look into their faces and recognize the sacred there. We can spend our days fighting for justice, yet still overlook the very people we claim to love. May we remember to listen, to see, and to honor the divine spark in every person we meet. Rev. Moya Harris, Senior Director of Programs, Sojourners
|