His feet were just inches from my face. That’s right! Ugly, scarred, deformed and a bit dirty from the dust of the sidewalk and worst of all, they were just inches from my face. It was not the position in which I would have assumed to find myself just a few minutes earlier, but here I was, lying prostrate with my face staring at the atrophied, disfigured limbs of a Nairobi street beggar. What were left of his lower extremities were not really feet. For that matter, even the hands which he extended to help restore me to my upright and dignified position were not really hands. This man had lost hands and feet in a fire and all he could do was to extend the ‘nubs’ of support, which I desperately needed, but was too embarrassed and too ‘whole’ to accept freely.
How did I come to fall on my face at a beggar’s feet, you might ask? It wasn’t easy.
I had just left the very upscale offices of a downtown lawyer who was handling the legal affairs for Tenwek Hospital. It was my duty during those years to oversee the financial, legal and insurance matters for the hospital. In doing so, I would make frequent trips to Nairobi, which required me to look and act professional. I carried my brief case containing important documents and wore my best attire for business, which that day included a ‘smart’ dark colored skirt and jacket suit, with a light colored blouse, nylon stockings, and high heel shoes. Having completed the tasks for the day, I took the elevator to the ground floor of the high rise building and proceeded from the entrance towards the car which I had parked nearby.
It was a sunny day; the streets were busy with the usual vendors, shoppers and people of great importance such as…, I, for example.
The sidewalk was really crowded at this particular corner, as people made their way around some obstacle in their path. It was the corner just opposite from where I was standing, so I steadied myself and I clutched my brief case and continued. I did not want anyone to think I was not familiar with walking in the big city, even if I happened to live in Bomet at the time. After all, I am from Philadelphia where a crowd at mid-day is the norm for center city.
The pedestrians surged forward from the corner and I moved along with the tide, as though their avoidance of the obstacle was an example of their own ‘un-city’ like behavior. All of a sudden, he appeared. I was just about in the middle of crossing the street, and I saw this ‘poor creature’ this man of about 50 years of age, sitting on the sidewalk begging. Practically all of the passerby’s did just that…, passed by. A few threw a coin at his plate without bending down to make sure it hit the mark and moved on as the man ‘pawed’ at the gifts to make them into a collectible pile. A cup would have been more difficult to get a coin in with a quick toss, and a greater challenge for him make good their bad aim. I slowed my stride as I watched. A bit of pity and a bit of horror seized me and caused me to slow my pace a bit more and then to actually miss the curb, trip and then fall at the beggar’s feet.
His reaction was quick, kind and deliberate. He probably did not have many ‘sophisticated’ American women fall for him.
‘Oh, I’m sorry mam, I am so sorry, I am very, very sorry!’ He kept at it as he tried to offer a ‘helping hand’.
My tightly held brief case hit the ground, opened and the papers flew out onto the sidewalk around him. I could feel a sharp pain in my one knee as I knew I had scraped it on the pavement, and torn my nylon hosiery. I looked up at the man’s face. He displayed genuine concern and compassion. He knew exactly what it was to be in this position and have people walk past him. He knew just how I felt, vulnerable, embarrassed and dependent. The crowd continued to pass us both.
‘Thank you, oh thank you so much’ I responded repeatedly to him. I quickly gathered my papers shoved them haphazardly into the case, swallowed my pride and dusted the dirt off of my business attire. I moved away from him as quickly as I could, lest someone think we were partners in his small time venture. Within a few minutes I was in my car, and far from the scene and ready to reflect on what could possibly have been on God’s mind by allowing me to be so utterly shamed.
I never really got it, until I started to relate this story to others. It is times like that which serve to remind me that we are all what we are by God’s grace. I was born in a time and a place where the only opportunity I have thus far had to lie prostrate in humility before God and before people was at the feet of a beggar.
God has brought me into this work of missions by His grace and I am kept by His grace. I dare not boast of anything, because I could surely still be lying on my face at the feet of a beggar.
1Co 15:10 But by the grace of God I am what I am: and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not in vain; but I laboured more abundantly than they all: yet not I, but the grace of God which was with me.
thank you for sharing a bit of your life through this story...i shared this incident and some of what you both shared in the letter you sent out with our small group earlier today when we were to share about what it means when Jesus said "blessed are the pure in heart". You both are examples of Jesus here on this earth and i would like to be more like that, too.
Posted by: terry in nc | January 01, 2006 at 11:35 PM