Wheat fields or off ramps

I am sitting in a beautiful vestibule of a beautiful library at a beautiful college I have always wanted to attend. And now I am, for my masters of education degree. There are many plants and trees around me, a comfy chair, foot rests, two story windows over looking a wooded area and some mixed architecture that is just to be glimpsed through the foliage. I'm pretty lucky. But I had to drive by one lady today who wasn't so lucky on the way here. I pass her most every time I come to the campus, she is usually standing at the end of the exit ramp at the stop light wearing a simple dress, staring into the distance, and holding a cardboard sign. There is something about her that makes me hurt. She looks like she would be a perfect addition to a piece of art referencing harvests in fields, or dust bowls, or maybe something Appalachian.... There are many people who are much smarter than I am who can logically explain to you why giving money to pan handlers only makes their lives worse, doesn't help the situation, or the homeless. Our church is very active in social charities, out reach programs, humanitarian everything. We are strongly encouraged to give a small portion of our weekly paychecks towards those programs, and the missionary aspect of the church. We are taught by our leaders to be charitable people, to never judge, to help those in need. But we are reminded that giving to pan handlers and those on the street is less effective than supporting the services that are in place to help those individuals. Once my wife reminded me of that counsel when I started to pull out some money for someone we were passing on the street. She felt I was ignoring the counsel of our leaders to do so.... and I guess I was.... Today her sign said "anything will help", with the word Simplicity written in larger red letters. It looked like the sign of any other pan handler. The weather has turned nice. Her face was sun burnt as her hair and skirt whipped and snapped in the wind and she stared forward, not making eye contact. She was standing on the torn remnant of a box or a poster that was either shielding her feet from the hot pavement, or the tops from the sun. I reached into my pocket considering if I would be breaking the counsel of my church leaders. Maybe I just wanted to do something for selfish reasons, to feel a little more human for a minute, more than writing a check I don't always write, more human than just donating old clothes I did't want anymore anyway. I found a one and a five I hadn't taken time to put back in my wallet earlier when I bought a coke from my work's vending machine. I pulled them out and a couple of quarters fell between the seats. Then the light turned green.