hand
The street was cluttered with rickshaws, bicycles, and cars that were trying to navigate the passage to their destination that morning in what was then known as Bombay, India. The smell of diesel fumes and incense wafted into the taxi transporting the snugly secured Ahsha (my daughter) fastened around my neck and chest. We had witnessed the flurry of humanity that approached taxis with hands outstretched for any bit of change. It was not uncommon to see young mothers baring breasts with baby in tow in a gesture implying no milk for the hungry. I had seen a couple of folks in New York on the subway who made a profession of panhandling, but this was far more heart wrenching. On an earlier taxi ride the driver had warned against giving even a penny lest the taxi be surrounded quickly by those looking to receive just a pittance. Suddenly, a young man approached the window that was opened only slightly that December morning in 1987. His hands were missing fingers eaten away by the ravage of leprosy. I was moved almost to tears as I reached in my pocket and handed him through the tiny opening a ten rupee bill, the smallest denomination I had on me at the time. It was less than one dollar, but the taxi driver burst into a shout of admonition; “That man has never seen that much money before!” I responded; “I’ve never seen a leper before, so I guess we’re even.” The taxi driver was not amused, but took us safely to our destination. We are so often concerned with our own agendas that we can miss the opportunity to respond to the heart’s tug toward the need of others. A possible blessing from giving is the receipt of thankfulness at the ability to give. No gift is too small to be grand. A smile toward a worried soul could be the spark that ignites a moment of inspiration.