I drive past homeless people all the time. At red lights. On corners I know by heart. Holding signs I’ve learned to read without really seeing. Most days, I look away.

Not because I don’t care — but because caring feels like too much sometimes. Because I don’t know where to put all that need. Because the world has trained us to keep moving or we’ll drown in what we can’t fix.

But this time, I didn’t look away. I talked to her.

She was a woman. Kind. Soft. Normal in a way that almost messes with you. She didn’t unload her trauma. She didn’t tell me her story. She didn’t need to earn my compassion by proving how broken she was. I just spoke to her like a human being. I gave her a dollar. She gave me a smile that felt heavier than the exchange.

And the whole drive home, I couldn’t stop thinking about how little it actually takes to remind someone they’re still seen.

We Ask the Wrong Questions

We’re obsessed with the why of homelessness.

“What happened?” “Are they on drugs?” “Are they even trying?”As if suffering has to pass a background check before it deserves kindness.

But Jesus never led with interrogation. He didn’t ask the blind man what sin caused it.

He didn’t ask the woman at the well to clean up first. He didn’t ask the leper if he’d relapse. He just saw people — and met them right where they were. So why do we think we get to do it differently?

I kept thinking… What if help didn’t come with conditions? What if instead of one-time guilt money, we practiced something closer to commitment? What if you adopted a homeless person — not in ownership, not in savior mode — but in consistency? A prepaid card. Reloadable from your phone. Five dollars. Ten. Twenty. Whatever you can spare. Weekly. Monthly. Whenever. No rules. No monitoring. No moral supervision.

If they buy food — good.

If they buy water — good.

If they buy alcohol or drugs — still not my business. Because once I decide I get to control how someone survives pain I’ve never lived, I’m no longer helping — I’m judging. And that was never the gospel.

I mean if you think about it, we are out here giving our money to churches and really don’t know if its going to God’s work. Giving to the poor is what Jesus did. He didn’t give to a church.

This Isn’t About Fixing Them. This isn’t about saving anyone. Jesus already handled that part. This is about dignity. About understanding that homelessness isn’t a character flaw — it’s often the final chapter of a thousand quiet losses. Mental illness. Abuse. Grief. Addiction. Foster care. Divorce. Death.

Most of us are one tragedy away from the same sidewalk — we just don’t like to admit it. So when we give with strings attached, we’re really saying: “I’ll help you, but only if you behave in a way that makes me comfortable.” That’s not love. That’s control disguised as charity.

Maybe This Is What Faith Looks Like

Jesus fed people who would never follow Him. He healed people who would go right back into broken systems. He loved people who didn’t change. And He never once said, “Make sure they deserve it first.” So maybe faith isn’t about big missions or loud declarations. Maybe it’s about eye contact. About calling someone “ma’am” instead of “them.” About choosing not to look away. Maybe it’s about trusting God enough to believe that obedience is our job — not outcomes.

I Don’t Know If This Idea Is Perfect. I don’t know if this would work. I don’t know if it would change lives. I don’t know if it would even be noticed. But I know this: That woman reminded me that people don’t need us to solve them — they need us to see them. And if loving without conditions makes people uncomfortable…

maybe we’re finally doing it right.

Closing Prayer 🌿

God,

soften the places in me that learned to look away. Teach me to love without control, without fear, without conditions. Let my hands be open, not clenched around judgment. Help me see people the way You always have — not as problems to solve, but as souls to honor.

Amen.

XOXO, The Healing Wildflower