Jessica Grosland and the Beggarwoman

I have seen beggars here. Dozens of them. Beggars are the natural consequence of big cities. As I have lived in a small town for most of my life, though, I am unaccustomed to them, and they catch my attention wherever we go.

Here in St. Petersburg they are always old people, often deformed in one way or another. They are pitiful; but the advice I've gereally been given is to offer them no more than my pity. I understand the reasons why: the money I give them could go to supporting a drug addiction; many "beggars" really are just playing off tourists' sympathies to get some extra cash; and I simply don't have enough money to give some away to every beggar I meet. So yeah, I get the idea. I'm supposed to just keep walking.

But they get to me. It always yanks at my heartstrings to see a fellow human being in such obvious distress. I pray for them, but my prayers feel weak and hypocritical. Sometimes, when I have some change in my pockets, I have stopped and dropped a bit of money into their cups. I can't help it. It drives me crazy to walk past them, knowing full well of their suffering and doing nothing about it.

Today, as I left my last Russian Language class, I wrapped my arms tightly around myself for warmth. I was alone, since the other girls had to go buy tickets and plan for their trip coming up next week. I walked quickly, grimacing against the sharp wind. It was bitterly cold. I hurried toward the Metro station, thinking of the nice warm apartment building that awaited me. I was in a hurry; I was distracted; but somehow I still noticed the old woman immediately.

There wasn't much of her to see. She was curled up in a wheelchair, bent over herself, the chair pushed back against the grimy wall. Her body was obscured beneath many layers of clothing - hat, scarves, coat - but even still I could see that she was frighteningly thin. She looked frail, just a wrinkly bag of bones. She wasn't petitioning passersby; she didn't have a cardboard sign; she never even glanced up at the traffic that rushed before her. Her chin was tucked to her chest, her entire being focused on one thing only: her hands.

I couldn't really see her hands; they were wrapped in some ratty gray wool. They drew my attention, regardless. They were the only bit of her that was moving. She was rubbing her hands together in a futile attempt to get warm. Her heart didn't really seem into it.

When I saw her, my heart cried out.. Why had I ever complained of cold? Here was a woman who had been abandoned to the streets, where she probably would not last the winter. Just looking at her pathetic little hands made me swell with emotion.

I didn't even slow down. I kept walking.

But then, I turned back. Wasn't there something I could do? I mentally checked my purse, hoping to find some some bills. No such luck. All I had on me was a few coins (not worth the effort) and some newly withdrawn 1,000 ruble bills (far too much money - I have no income over here, after all).

So I kept walking.

But my heart wailed at me and my mind would not be still. I was thinking about that 1,000 rubles. (1,000 rubles is a little more than $30, by the way.) To me, that was a lot of money. I've tried to be frugal here, but I still worry every day whether I'll have enough to get me through the semester. As I thought about it, though, I wondered what that money would be spent towards: snacks for our trip? An opera? A cool hat? I didn't need any of those things, not really. But if that amount of money was valuable to me, how much more valuable would it be to this beggarwoman?

I could spare the money. I would not starve - or, likely, even suffer - without it. But it would be a significant gift to this old woman.

I pulled the bill out of my pocket, determined, then turned around and walked back to the old woman. She still did not look up; people passsed her every moment without caring to notice her, why should she notice them? I looked at her a moment, bursting with a desperate desire to help. But what could I say to her? I don't speak Russian.

Finally, I approached her. I gently touched her arm. "Zdrastvitye," I said quietly, crouching down before her. Wordlessly, and with no feeling, she opening her hands. I firmly placed the 1,000 ruble bill in her hands.

After a moment, she seemed to realize exactly what it was she was holding. (I'm not sure, but I'm willing to bet that it was more than she's accustomed to getting from young women off the street.) Finally, she was awakened from her stupor. She slowly raised her head to look at me. I remained where I was, kneeling before her, a gentle hand on her arm. As she looked at me, and I at her, my heart suddenly overflowed with compassion. Great tears welled in my eyes. I had no words to tell her that God loves her - that I love her - so I did my best to let it show in my teary smile.

Something happened. Something was communicated in that endless moment I spent kneeling before the beggarwoman. She finally opened her mouth in whispered thanks. I nodded, still smiling. Then I slowly stood, turning and continuing on my way. It was hard to see through my tears, but I spared no thought for the cold anymore.

How could I have ever thought that 1,000 rubles was too much?! I wanted to do more than feed this woman; I wanted to get her a warm place to stay, a comfortable bed, new clothes, and a sense of security. My 1,000 rubles now seemed a pitance against the troubles this woman faced. Sorrow welled up inside of me as I thought about it. "That woman will probably die before the winter is out," I thought, "and I can't do anything to help her!"

But a scripture came to my mind and spoke peace to my soul. It was the voice of the Savior, promising, "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, my brethren, ye have done it unto me."

I knew that I had done the right thing. I had done the will of the Lord, and He would not suffer my work on His behalf to prove inconsequential. That woman would be blessed through me. I felt assured of that.

And if she was going to be called back to God soon . . . well, maybe I had been able to give her a reminder of His love. I prayed that He would prepare a rest for her.

And I prayed my thanks, that God had given me the opportunity to feel His Spirit in such abundance. Truly, I feel as though I am the one who benefitted most from this experience. It is one that I hope I shall never forget.