These Aren’t Problems.

After experiencing several years of serious challenge and upheaval, I have been recently perplexed by those who think these are problems:

Scraping the ice and snow off the car windows in the morning.

The morning commute with said ice and snow (unless of course you spin out or get stuck).

Having to go to work and school.

Not having appetizers in the fridge if someone spontaneously visits your house. 

Almost having a car accident.

Considering I have no house, no car, no job at the moment, and have been in a car accident, I consider all of these nice “problems” to have.

However, I am sure there was a time I would have thought these were problems. I’m glad I am no longer that person. I have lost a lot, especially in terms of material comforts and security, but what I have also lost a lot of, a loss that I am realizing makes me feel like the richest woman alive is arrognace and ignorance.

As I continue to lose these, I am gaining the virtues of flexibilty, patience and compassion (although I have more to gain to have compassion for those who think that these are problems).

We all go through challenging times, but will we allow these challenges to change us? To strip us of our arrogance and ignorance so that we become more conscious? Or will we hang on to them, and continue to see little things as big things and big things as little things and not be changed?

The Soul Reporter



A Man With No Shoes.

Source: Uploaded by user via kkfinephoto on Pinterest

I was in a coffee shop, drinking my tea latte and eating oatmeal. Outside the window, I saw a man.


He was limping along a city street. I looked down at his feet. He had on only stockings- ripped and worn. He went to a garbage can and rummaged through. My heart cried, but I did not move from my comfortable chair in the coffee shop.

Earlier I noticed a woman in line at the coffee shop. Her face was kind and pure. I saw this same woman again, leaving her comfortable chair, and going to the man with no shoes. She held onto his elbow and walked with him across the street. I told my husband: that woman is walk…and I burst into tears.

Through my tears, I watched her walk slow with him, and get to the other side. There, they talked and pointed their hands down a street. She left him, but there was a look on her face. As she got closer, I could see, she too, was in tears.

She spoke to her partner—other patrons watched her, as we do, when we see people cry. She grabbed her backpack, and left the coffee shop. She crossed the street again. I imagined the impact of this man was too great, and she had to do more for him.

Moments later, there she was again. This time with the man, who was now holding a cane.

The Soul Reporter