She sits on the benches in front of our office, sometimes for hours, smoking cigarettes. She rocks back and forth, at times looking into space. Her clothes are dirty and sweat stained. Her stringy gray hair goes every which way. It doesn't look like she's bathed for a while. Sometimes she talks loud nonsense to herself. Other times she mumbles insults to passersby.
We see her go in and out of the cheap hotel across the street, and heard that she takes medication for psychiatric problems. I don't know her name or how old she is. She just showed up several months ago and has been a fixture ever since.
She serves a small purpose in our recovery community. Once in a while when people come to my office to complain about personal problems I give them an assignment. I send them outside to give her money for cigarettes or coffee, or maybe buy her a sandwich from the nearby convenience store. When they return they have a sense of gratitude.
While at first we were put off because she sat in front of our business, today she fits in. I see those in our community treat her with kindness and generosity in spite of her appearance and poor communication. And when I see her I’m reminded to be grateful for the blessings I have in my life – for my so-called sanity.
It's a chance to be kind and to recognize that our Creator made all of us differently - yet somehow we're cared for.
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