Fear of the Unknown

I passed him on the way to work a week ago. This crestfallen man dressed in old, dirty clothes, holding up a sign that said “Please Help-in Need of Work.”

I saw her standing on the corner a couple of days ago. This sad, desperate woman, clutching a cardboard sign that read “Widow with three children-please help.”

These are the people I see everyday; the people I so desperately long to help. I long to stop, to give them money, a place to stay, or simply a kind word of encouragement.

But I never do.

Fear stops me. A cold hand always grips my heart, forces me to keep driving without looking back. But, what is it I am afraid of? These men and women are just like me; they are humans in desperate need of help.

But I can’t stop myself from wondering about who these people really are. Why are they on the streets? Are they druggies? Alcoholics? Are they simply trying to take advantage of a generous person, and make a little extra income?

“What am I afraid of?” I ask myself as I once again glimpse him, that poor, unkempt soul standing in humiliation on the corner, begging for help. What if this person truly does need help?

But once again I keep going, never forming an answer to this fear of the unknown—the unknown of reaching out to a stranger in need.

Word Count: 238