When we have baseball tickets, I count down the days until the game, excitement the main emotion. Game day arrives, and we dig out our team gear, pack some snacks, and head out.
We walk from parking garage to stadium, and emotions become conflicted along the path. From point A to point B, we join a crowd of people marching toward a rather expensive few hours of leisure; we pass small groups of people holding cardboard signs and paper coffee cups. The juxtaposition can temper the excitement quickly.
I know there are statistics and stories about the people we pass. I know that some will say that we are buying into a gimmick. I also know that Jesus stopped and looked people in the eyes, and if our family is going to make a mistake in how we treat people, we want to err on the side of compassion, not cynicism.
At the first cardboard sign sighting, the boys look to me, ready to act. I reach into my bag, pulling out what we have to offer. The boys approach each person, asking if they would like an orange, a protein bar. Only once have we been yelled at for offering food instead of money; I cannot count how many times the food has been taken with a smile nor how many times I have watched our boys brighten at seeing how a small gift of food changes the countenance of the people in front of them.
Regularly as we leave the game, we run out of food to give, and the boys scramble. They will give the bag of their own partially-eaten snack, or apologize that all we have left is a lollipop. We drive home, most often discussing how we wish we could do more. And for this mama, no matter what happened at the game, the day ends with a breath of joy, HOPE the main emotion.
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