Because I live in a small town, I don't often see unhoused people. But when we were in Europe, there were a bunch. As we walked through town on the way to the bus, there were people who had spent the night on the streets, and looked tired. 

There was money in my pockets, but it was the wrong color. How would an Italian with no resources be able to convert my green bills to buy a sandwich? One woman with her dog was camped out a few feet from us as we enjoyed a celebratory dinner. Other people talked with her and put change in her pan. But I did not. 

Then I began watching the series about the Maid, and I felt a softening. 

When John and I went to pick up the rental car last week we drove through parts of Philly where unhoused people hang out. Yet I had to keep my eyes on his car. 

Then I saw her. 

A woman stood brazenly in the middle of the street with a sign. I did not need to read it, to know she needed help. The light was red long enough for me to scramble through my purse, Thankfully there was a five. I held it out the window as we drove past, my eyes still on the car in front. I did hear her voice. 

"Thank you."

The fact is, I am not very generous when it comes to charities. I make up reasons for this, about how I give in other ways. But that day I was grateful for a chance to offer lunch money to a woman I will never meet again.

What surprises me, is that a week later she probably does not remember me. But I sure remember her.