Do you know? Once, he was just like you. He, too, had a mother and father whose eyes sparkled with joy when his birth was announced. Perhaps they wept with happiness—just as yours did. He grew up amidst prayers; when he was teething or running a fever, his mother would spring from her bed time and again, keeping sleepless watch over him. He was someone’s life, someone’s everything.
Dou you know? Once, he was just like you. He, too, had amother and father whose eyes sparkled with joy when his birth was announced. Perhaps they wept with happiness—just as yours did. He grew up amidst prayers; when he was teething or running a fever, his mother would spring from her bedtime and again, keeping sleepless watch over him. He was someone’s life, someone’s everything.
Do you know? Once, he was just like you. He, too, had a mother and father whose eyes sparkled with joy when his birth was announced. Perhaps they wept with happiness—just as yours did.
Shall I tell you something about that poor soul, my brother? That person you see at various times of the day—sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the evening—sleeping by the roadside or on a park bench; sometimes begging, sometimes walking aimlessly with head bowed; someone who evokes your pity one moment and your disgust the next… Someone officially labeled “homeless,” a figure so commonplace that seeing them no longer stirs much emotion in you.
If you have a conscience, try to listen; try to understand. If the video’s thumbnail drew you here, I hope I am not sharing this in vain. Come now, cast aside the veils of daily worldly life that shroud your conscience and prevent you from feeling. Part them just a little, so that some light may stream through the window of your heart.
Do you know? Once, he was just like you. He, too, had a mother and father whose eyes sparkled with joy when his birth was announced. Perhaps they wept with happiness—just as yours did. He grew up amidst prayers; when he was teething or running a fever, his mother would spring from her bed time and again, keeping sleepless watch over him. He was someone’s life, someone’s everything.
He couldn’t wait to bring his first diploma home. He spent his first paycheck with excitement. When the time came, he built a home of his own. Life had truly begun for him, too. Then—whatever happened, whatever transpired—those things occurred that make people knock on wood when they hear of them; things no one wants to happen to themselves or their own children. He was ruined… And somehow, he ended up in the state you see him in today.
People get used to things… They adapt quickly—to hardship and ease alike. As a thinker once said, human beings are like water; they instantly take the shape of the vessel they inhabit. Yet, perhaps because I am a woman and a mother myself, I could never quite get used to the sight of a homeless woman. That place—that cold sidewalk where she endured the roar of passing cars at night and the terrifying sound of approaching footsteps—was not where she belonged. She should have been making sandwiches for her lovely children as they got ready for school. She should have been contributing in a workplace. She shouldn’t have been a burden… She should have been helping others. That would have been far better for her, for society, and for the world.
It happened somehow. Call it their mistake, call it fate, call it karma—call it whatever you like. It happened. Conscience… What a concept, what a word that is. What a precious gem it is…
I realized that among them were esteemed individuals—former teachers and healthcare workers. Each one is an ocean, each one a book. Different stories, yet the same endings. One day, I saw a young expectant mother among them. Any mother or father who has raised a child can easily imagine what that woman was about to go through. That is true trauma—at least for anyone with a conscience.
It happened somehow. Call it their mistake, call it fate, call it karma—call it whatever you like. It happened. Conscience… What a concept, what a word that is. What a precious gem it is… Something that cannot be bought with money, acquired later in life, or passed down as an inheritance… A gem chosen by the Creator and placed in the heart at birth. It is through this gem that the world turns and tomorrows come to pass. Good deeds happen, and faces light up with smiles. How else could it be? With money? With greed? With ugly human traits like jealousy? I hardly think so… Not at all.
We need to find—within our own means—those things that can be done, driven by the mindset that “there is always something one can do.” In fact, there are things one should do regarding this matter, and things one should not. For instance, if you have acquaintances who—upon seeing these people in their wretched state—attempt to humiliate or blame them, or who complain to the business owner or call the police simply because the sight of them spoils the view while they sip their coffee and eat their cookies at a café, then stop associating with them. That is precisely the sort of thing one should not do. Stay away from such people. Because their bad traits will rub off on you. Have no doubt that the person who complains about that individual today would do the exact same thing to you tomorrow if they saw you in the same situation. And they would do it with relish.
As I said, it comes down to conscience… It wasn’t something his parents possessed, so he couldn’t have inherited it. It isn’t something one can simply buy at a discount somewhere. But if *you* do possess that conscience, do not judge that homeless person. If you truly believe in a merciful Creator who watches over us, do not do it. Never humiliate or look down on him. Remember, even if a human being errs, it is the Creator’s prerogative to pass judgment. You see plenty of people around you mired in mistakes. How many of them are homeless? For how many of them is punishment meted out immediately? Look at yourself first. What if the Creator did this precisely to distinguish the compassionate from the ruthless?
If there is something you can do, do it—regardless of their skin color, gender, religion, or appearance. Do it solely for the sake of the Creator. Share your food; if you have the means, buy an extra portion of whatever you are eating for them, too. Slip a few coins into their pocket—without stopping to wonder how they might spend the money. Just give; simply give. And give as a wise soul once advised: “When doing good, give in such a way that if your right hand gives, your left hand does not know it”—give with that kind of humility. Give without fanfare, without announcement, and without causing embarrassment.
If their mother were to see them like this, she would weep bitterly—oh, how she would weep.
If you can give nothing else, offer a smile. If you are close enough to speak, tell them that everything will be alright. Tell them that the One who created them is aware of them. Tell them He is very close to them, and that every winter has its spring. Share with them the words of Jesus, the only son of the Pure Mary: “In the world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” Share the words of Moses: “Be strong and courageous… for the Lord your God goes with you.
” Share the words of Muhammad: “Allah suffices His servant; whoever turns to Him, Allah suffices him.” Seek to receive their blessing, for in a sacred narrative, God declares: “Tell the one who seeks Me that I am with the poor and the brokenhearted.” View this as an opportunity to draw closer to God.
Where else would you draw near to Him? If you know of another way, tell me. But treat them kindly, and remember: if their mother were to see them like this, she would weep bitterly—oh, how she would weep.
