WHAT DO YOU DO?
What do you do when you see someone on the side of the road with a flat tire?
It’s pouring.
Or it’s 97 degrees.
You’re already late.
You glance over…
…then keep driving.
What do you do when the person ahead of you in the grocery line comes up four dollars short?
They apologize.
Start deciding what to put back.
You notice they don’t look like you.
Don’t dress like you.
Don’t live where you live.
What do you do?
What do you do when the person asking for help is someone you can’t stand?
Someone who’s hurt people.
Someone whose very name spikes your blood pressure.
What then?
A few days ago, I walked into a convenience store. Yes, it was 7-11. I know what a surprise.
A man walked in behind me.
His clothes had long since lost their war with soap.
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
His words tripped over each other.
The cashier looked straight through him.
“Get out.”
The man quietly asked if anyone could spare a few dollars.
The room became suddenly fascinated by the candy bars, the lottery tickets, the floor…
…anything except the man standing there.
Then he looked at me.
Not with anger.
Not with entitlement.
With bone-deep exhaustion.
The kind that settles into a person’s soul.
Maybe he wanted drug money.
A few years ago, that would’ve been enough for me.
Case closed.
But life has a funny way of shrinking the distance between ourselves and the people we once judged.
I reached into my pocket.
Three dollars.
All I had.
I handed it to him.
He looked at the bills for barely a second.
Then back into my eyes.
He pointed two fingers from his eyes to mine.
For one brief moment…
he wasn’t a problem.
He was simply a man being seen.
He never said, “I see you.”
He didn’t have to.
Instead, he whispered,
“God bless.”
“Thank you.”
“God bless.”
Again.
And again.
It wasn’t a performance.
It was gratitude.
I didn’t cure addiction with three wrinkled bills.
What he did with that money was his story.
What I did with it was mine.
Because sometimes the deepest poverty isn’t an empty wallet.
It’s becoming invisible.
Now that I’m beginning to work in recovery…it’s has taught me something I wish I’d learned years ago.
Long before addiction steals a person’s health…
it usually steals their name.
We stop saying,
“That’s a man.”
And start saying,
“That’s an addict.”
“That’s the homeless guy.”
“That’s the alcoholic.”
“That’s the convict.”
It’s frightening how quickly we stop seeing people… and start seeing labels.
I’ve failed this test more times than I care to admit.
I’ve driven past.
I’ve looked away.
I’ve judged stories I never bothered to learn.
My goal isn’t to become a saint.
It’s simply to fail less.
If I can help change a tire…
I will.
If I can quietly cover someone’s groceries…
I will.
If I can look another human being in the eye when the world has already decided they’re invisible…
I will.
Not because I’m an especially good person.
Because I know what it feels like to need mercy.
Life has a way of switching your seat in the story.
One day you’re the helper.
The next…
you’re praying someone sees you.
So maybe the question isn’t,
What would you do?
Maybe the better question is this:
If you were the one standing there…
shaking…
ashamed…
feeling invisible…
What would you hope another human being would do for you?
Because compassion doesn’t always change the person you’re helping.
Sometimes…
it rescues the one doing the helping. 
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