I met a friend for coffee the other day. As I got out of my car, I noticed a sad and weathered Black woman walking slowly in the parking lot. She wore a long brown patterned skirt and a beige knitted shawl wrapped around her body. Gripping the two ends of the shawl she kept it closed and close to her body. It appeared long, worn and homemade. The knitted holes likely grew larger over time. It barely protected her from the chilly weather. She carried a small plastic bag that looked like it had one or two items in it. The bag dangled from her fingertips giving the appearance of a total lack of energy.
A woman who was leaving the coffee shop stepped toward her in an effort to help. I stood and watched with curiosity as a White woman tried to help a Black woman. I noticed the fear and guardedness on the Black woman’s face. From a distance I heard bits and pieces of the conversation.
“Do you need help?”
Her head shook back and forth.
“Do you have a place to go?”
She nodded.
“It’s very cold outside today and you don’t look warm.”
Her shoulders went up and her mouth went down.
The White woman got back in the car appearing frustrated that her help was not well received. She tried. I went into the warm coffee shop and met my friend.
I observed the White woman asking closed ended questions and not really engaging. I wanted to try too, but I knew I needed to wait a little bit before doing so. I didn’t want her to feel overwhelmed and bombarded.
I went into the coffee shop and saw my friend.
“Today, let's sit by the window. I want to watch the woman over there, I am concerned about her. I don’t think she is a homeless woman. I think someone hurt her and she is scared.”
We took a seat by the window and I sipped my oatmilk London Fog and he sipped his coffee. I watched this lonely, hurt woman slowly shuffle her feet from the parking lot to the side walk and finally just find a resting spot. I felt like a voyeur, watching her. She walked about 300 yards to the corner. And eventually stood there rocking back and forth. I imagined she was rocking to keep warm.
“I need to go help her.”
“Of course you do”
I went to the counter and asked the barista what his favorite sandwich was. He picked out his favorite sandwich, something with bacon. Well, that is something I would never buy for myself! I wanted her to have something pleasing and it is a good bet that someone from the South likes bacon. “Please put that in a bag with a large coffee and bag of chips.” I left my coat on the back of my chair not wanting to have more than she did and walked to where she was standing.
“Hello…Hello.” I called out several yards before approaching. I didn’t want her to feel startled.
“You look very cold, I brought some hot coffee and food for you.”
I reached to hand the bag to her and noticed her trepidation. She looked scared and did not accept the bag I offered.
There are so many issues we don’t like to discuss or even notice. Race was the invisible barrier, filling the space between us with a heaviness.. The deep history (especially in the South) of White people taking advantage of Black people is real. I understood this and did not pressure her. Slowly. Slowly. I reminded myself to breathe and relax. None of what she experienced is about me. I had an opportunity to show her kindness, compassion, empathy and grace. Although I wished she was not in emotional or physical pain, I did not want to fix her or change her. I wanted to stand in front of her and bear witness to her story. I wanted to see her for who she is, real.
It only takes a reminder to breathe,
a moment to be still, and just like that,
something in me settles, softens, makes
space for imperfection. The harsh voice
of judgment drops to a whisper and I
remember again that life isn’t a relay
race; that we will all cross the finish
line; that waking up to life is what we
were born for. As many times as I
forget, catch myself charging forward
without even knowing where I’m going,
that many times I can make the choice
to stop, to breathe, and be, and walk
slowly into the mystery.
by Danna Faulds
She continued to look at the bag of food with skepticism. I was determined to earn her trust.
I remembered my breath and took a few inhales and exhales. I softened my voice and then spoke with heartfelt compassion. “Please accept the food. I bought it for you. And the bag of chips is completely sealed. The sandwich was picked out by the man who works at the store. If it isn’t to your liking, please come into the store and pick out anything you want.”
“I am cold but I don’t drink coffee.”
“I can get you hot cocoa if you like.”
“That would be nice”
But before I could switch the coffee to hot cocoa we began talking.
“You look like you are having a rough time. Would you like to talk?”
Her eyes were tired and sunken with dark rings around them. When she spoke, I noticed her teeth, which could have benefitted from some toothpaste. I felt certain her weary body would have appreciated a safe warm place to rest. She looked like rest had escaped her life. It was evident, caring for herself was obviously not her main focus, survival was.
She nodded and said “I have been through a lot.”
Her big brown eyes became glassy. I wondered if she was going to let the tears flow or continue to hold them back.
“You can talk to me. I will understand and never judge you. I have been through a lot too.”
When she spoke there was a willingness to engage with me. I was seeing her pain and validating it. But she still had her walls up, even as she allowed me to chip away at them.
“What’s your name?”
“Miss King”
I got the distinct impression this was not her name. I wondered if she chose the name Miss King to wrap herself in the courage and strength of Coretta Scott King. I looked at her with admiration seeing the strength that maybe she could not see or feel yet.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Miss King. My name is Chellie.”
I could see she was hurting. I noticed her weariness and fear. I saw the bags under her eyes that told me she was worrying. Her shuffling steps indicated a complete lack of energy. She needed to be cared for. Beneath all of this was a woman of great strength and courage. She was so much more than what happened to her. And in those moments, it was easy to see pain filled her world.
She held tight to her shawl which looked handmade. Only parts of her body were kept warm. The holes of the knitted shawl allowed for the chill of the wind to pass through. I watched her pull the shawl tighter and as she did, I wished I had an extra coat in the car for her to wear.
I felt deeply connected to this woman. I knew this guardedness and fear. I was deeply hurt too. Once you know this feeling you are able to see it more easily in others. I saw she was afraid because she was hurt. I don’t know the cause of her pain but I knew she was deeply hurt.
“Do you have a safe place to go?”
“I think so.”
“Do you know resources where you can call?”
“I do”.
A bus stopped in front of us, the door opened and she entered. I didn’t know where she was going but I hoped it was someplace safe. She took the bag of food, thanked me and left. I walked away holding the hot coffee meant for her. I gave the coffee to my friend who waited patiently for me.
Each night since meeting Miss King, I have kept her in my prayers. She is a gentle reminder of when I was after going through an abusive relationship. She is one of millions and when I say my prayers, I pray for us all. It takes courage to accept help and to let someone in. It requires vulnerability to say “Yes I am in pain and I need help.” For too long I hid behind a story and smile. Many of us do, I am not the only one, and neither is Miss King.
Kindness and connection can break through barriers. I hope she knows I saw her and I cared. I know in my moments of fear, guardedness and coming out of abuse, I stayed to myself not trusting people around me and sometimes not even trusting myself. Some days are still quite difficult, but when I am able to make a difference in another persons life, I feel I have purpose.
Thank you Miss King, for giving me the opportunity to be part of your journey. You are a woman wrapped in courage and strength. I see that and the pain. In you, I see my own journey of healing. I feel grateful for having come so far. I wish you peace and ease along your healing. May kindness, love and compassion be with you always.
For Miss King and all us.
May you be happy
May you be peaceful
May you feel safe.
May you be loved and cared for.
May you have people around you that empower and encourage you to be your best self.
May you live with ease.
Links and Resources
This is fantastic, beautiful, and inspiring. I applaud your courage, generosity, and kindness. Thank you for sharing this story. You make me want to be a better person.
Thank you for sharing such an inspiring story. It's a reminder that caring and kindness can go a long way...and that stepping out of our comfort zone is often worth the sacrifice.