I Ate A Homeless Man's Cookies

Lord, have mercy. I'm an inconsistent little creature. 

I came up with a brilliant solution to the street-corner dilemma I often have -- whether to give money to someone who is begging or to offer to take them to a restaurant and buy a meal, or to say, "No; sorry!" with a big smile. None feels quite right.

So I came up with another not-quite-right solution -- carry around homemade cookies in baggies, offer a bag to someone who asks for money, and tell them that I made them with them in mind. Which I more or less would be doing, since I'm praying that I'd have eyes to see the people on the streets as God sees them, even if I don't (yet) know their names.

I thought I'd kill two birds with one stone and make the cookies with my toddler granddaughters while babysitting -- and there'd thus be extra love in the batch for sure.

The double batch was made, and I bagged up the cookies, put them in my freezer, and planned to take a few with me each time I went downtown to areas where I'm often asked for handouts.

I delivered one bag. Uno.

And then I started going to the freezer when I was hungry, taking just one cookie from a bag (because the recipients would never know that there were supposed to be four cookies in the bag instead of three), and eating it.

Like I said, "Lord, have mercy. I'm an inconsistent little creature."