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 I
look back with regret upon some incidents of my life — a
regret that deepens with the knowledge that despite repentance
and God’s forgiveness, marks may have been left on the lives
of others that yet remain.
My
son and I passed an unconscious man on the steps of Grand
Central Station, in New York. I’m pretty sure he was drunk;
but I saw compassion in the face of the boy, and he started to
stop — it was startling, new to him I said, “Wino” or
something like that, and moved him on. I wish now I had let him
express his compassion, even if it had meant later
disillusionment. We grow calloused, hardened to other’s
problems, and selfish soon enough on our own — without
assistance from our parents.
This
all came to mind when talking with a mother who said her son was
tender-hearted and trusting — too trusting for his own good.
He wanted to believe in everyone — to take at face value all
they said. It had gotten him into difficulties. But I find it
hard to criticize a man for wanting to believe in people —
even when my experience tells me they are not to
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be trusted. The heart reaches out, even
while the head holds back. It is a nice thing to be able to say
about a man, even when you feel like advising him to follow his
head.
City
dwellers may find it hard to believe, but I know places where,
Until recently, folk rarely locked the house when they went out.
Now such places are changing — and the people find it
difficult to make the necessary changes in outlook. I know how
they feel. When they realize how they are beginning to think of
their neighbors — the distrust they know is growing in their
hearts — they feel like they need to take a bath.
Sure
— there have always been thieves and drunks; and there have
always been hypocrites in the church. I suppose I am showing my
age and my “country raising” when I even wish for it to be
otherwise.
But
let’s encourage the few trusting souls that remain. Laugh at
their naiveté, and feel your deep down hurt that you can not be
one of them.
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