The Barefoot Evangelist

One of the curious things about spending a week with a particular idea is that it begins to change the way you see the world. Artists notice colour. Gardeners notice weeds and blossoms. Birdwatchers hear songs the rest of us miss. When we spend time with something, it quietly trains our attention.

This week, I found myself standing at a busy intersection watching a woman who was clearly having a very difficult day. Cars slowed. People watched. Someone retrieved something she’d dropped so she wouldn’t have to step into traffic. She eventually crossed the street and disappeared, probably never knowing that dozens of strangers had spent a few minutes hoping she would make it safely to the other side.

Was that an extraordinary event? Not really. It happens every day in one form or another. But because I’ve been thinking all week about what it means for people to care for one another, I noticed it differently. The story I had been reading in Scripture became a lens through which I saw ordinary life.

I don’t always know whether those moments are simply the result of paying closer attention or whether God has gently placed something in front of me that I needed to see. Sometimes I suspect it’s one. Sometimes I suspect it’s the other. Most of the time, I’m content to leave the mystery alone and simply be grateful that I noticed.

Perhaps that’s one of the quiet gifts of faith. Not that it gives us all the answers, but that it teaches us to look at the same old world with fresh eyes. And once in a while, in the middle of an ordinary Wednesday, we discover that grace has been walking beside us all along.