Last nite I called the cops for the second time since living on Bridge Street. The first time was one of the first days I lived here. My computer had been stolen out of the apartment while I was still in the process of moving in. I remember the officer who came out; he was very nice and told me I could probably find my computer in a pawn shop. I never did find it.
Last nite I came home and it was late and I got out of my car and saw a person laying half on the sidewalk by the park across the street. I saw the person move and my heart moved too but I was too afraid to go over there alone. I called my neighbor Zechariah. He was the only person I could think of that would not hate me for calling so late and might even help me help this person. He was still awake and did not hate me for calling but was not home and could not help me. I went inside and looked out my window and I was scared. I almost started weeping because I was looking out the window and not helping. I felt detached and inhumane. I could not find the non emergency number for the police and so I called 911. The first responders were there in about five minutes. Their truck was blocking my view but a few moments later I saw the first responders leave and a very drunk man stumble away down the sidewalk. The man did not look very well or stable and I knew that it would have been foolish for me to try and help him alone; but I still felt sick in my insides because I had watched a crumpled figure on the sidewalk from my window. I had wasted the time of the firemen. And I do not think that I was Jesus to the man on the sidewalk.
I wonder what it means to be moved to mercy and compassion and how that fits in with safety and reason.
I am going out of town again tomorrow. This time to Kentucky. This time it will not be a vacation.
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