sushi from heaven

A few weeks back, on a frigid day, I was walking in turbo-mode in the interest of preserving my fingertips. I was stopped by a man on the corner, selling his poetry. He told me that he needed $30 for a room. "I'm so cold," he said.

His eyes were bloodshot, his skin red and bruised from the wind, and one side of his nose was running. I decided that if he wasn't going to spend the money honorably, that would be his problem. I handed him a dollar, which he took. I hesitated a moment. I knew he'd be out there peddling poetry for a long time, and what would become of his nose and ears?

I forked over all the cash I had--a whopping eleven dollars. He took the money gratefully and I headed to campus, where I was planning to spend a few hours working on a book proposal and munching on sushi. As soon as I stepped away I realized with horror what I'd done--I didn't have my wallet with me and I'd given away all my money. I quickly did the equations in my head: zero cash + zero cash = no sushi.

As a nursing mother, my hunger tends to be extreme, and I tend to fixate on certain foods. It was a sushi day, all the way, and I'd been banking on it to get me out the door. But here I was, with no wallet and no cash, headed to campus.

As I walked, I thought about the divine economy and the possibility that God might just make a deposit into my tummy account. On campus, I headed over to the Div. School, hoping to find my husband.

I didn't find him, but I ran into one of his peers, who was carrying a bin full of food. I cleared my throat, "Hey Adrian, do you happen to have some leftovers?" He nodded and smiled, digging through the the box. He coaxed out a plastic container. "Would you like some sushi?"