Rarely does my morning commute bring a gift. I raced off the Irving Park bus to catch the Pulaski bus, but my lunch-homemade lasagna, a birthday gift from my beloved nephew– stayed behind. A fellow commuter responded to my cry of disappointment and asked if I had enough money for lunch. Initially, I brushed aside the question, knowing that I had emergency rations at work and an ATM card. When the generosity of his question sunk in, it was as if a new vista of human compassion opened to me, the way that sunlight and storm clouds share the sky after a thunderstorm. His concern was a reminder that kind hearted, compassionate people are everywhere. As we talked, I learned his name, Robert English, that he is 51-years old and on permanent disability due to a horrific fight many years ago. He was en route to a rehab appointment.

What would he have done if I had said, no, I don’t have money for lunch? It may have been more of an expression of solidarity than an offer to give me a couple of bucks. Nevertheless, the question arose from a generous spirit, which I eagerly interpreted as a sign that, in the midst of discouraging struggles with finances and fatigue, we still have the potential to be human beings to each other. Sometimes we even succeed.