Fear in the Heart

Fear in the Heart

I was craving hot chocolate so I turned into the parking lot of a corner convenience store and noticed a person standing on the sidewalk at the far end of the store. As I maneuvered across the icy asphalt, I noticed this person approach and speak to a man who had just left his truck. The truck driver shook his head “no” and proceeded to the door. The person turned away, emanating frustration. I assumed the person was asking for money, which is becoming an all-too-frequent occurrence on the streets of Utah these days.

The only available parking spot was directly in front of where this person was standing. As I approached, I could see the three telltale tear drops tattooed under her left eye. I instantly felt a nudge of fear as I recalled that someone had once told me those specific tattoos are murderously earned. I do not know if that is always the case, but my programmed response to those specific markings is absolute fear.

She made eye contact with me and intimidated me immediately. It wasn’t so much her appearance, but rather the hatred that seemed to rumble around her. I recoiled at the anger that crashed into me and in a feeble attempt to pave my way smoothly, I gently smiled at her and nodded as acknowledgment of her presence.

Surprise filled her face and she responded in kind.

Hoping I had made a friend, yet still prepared to ward off a monetary donation request, I slid out of my car and began toward the door. The icy surface allowed me to carefully keep my eyes averted, yet she still grabbed my attention as I stepped onto the sidewalk.

“Ma’am…”

Here it comes.

“Could you give me a ride to 900 South 300 West?”

Well. I wasn’t ready for that.

I actually stopped in my tracks and felt my head go foggy. I was shrouded in fear so intense that I could not think straight. I sure as hell did not want to allow her into my car, yet I was confused because a part of me wanted to help out a fellow human being.

“I am going in the opposite direction,” I said, which was not entirely true. “Sorry.”

She shrugged, clearly disbelieving my answer. I got my hot chocolate, paid and left, being certain to not glance in her direction. My hot chocolate tasted flat against my tongue and I had to swallow hard around a lump of guilt in my throat.

I was curious about that lump. Why did I feel guilty? Why did I feel like I had done the wrong thing? Had I hastily judged another in need as being unworthy of my time, energy and assistance? Had I just unnecessarily inconvenienced another person due to my lack of trust? Or had my intuitive reaction of fear been justly deserved, resulting in me being alive still?

I will never be able to answer some of those questions. I do, however, know the answer to the first two. I felt guilty because it is my divine nature to help and believe in others. It goes against who I am to deny help to someone in need.

I feel sad that our society has created a driving need to protect ourselves. With children being swiped off streets and out of their very beds at alarming rates, and prisons being filled to overcapacity with violent criminals, we rightfully need to know how to protect ourselves. But, what is it that has invaded humanity and has caused them to be so inhumane to one another? How will we ever generate peace when fear continually overrules the human characteristic of lending assistance? In a world where we are each so cloaked in walls of self-preservation and armor of defense, how are we ever going to accomplish loving one another as He has loved us?

The changes that need to happen for peace in our world will happen – and can only happen – one person at a time. So, I ask you… how do I, how do you, how do we change this around?