“I’m blessed, nothing less”

The ripped mittens he wore on his hands seemed useless. His fingers were especially cold at the ends and he blew on his hands for warmth. He rummaged through his belongings until he found a cardboard sign and obtained a marker. His weak and frail hands struggled as he tried his hardest to write. Even with a minute’s rest, his hands would continue to shake and were unable to gain the strength necessary to write even a few words. Helpless, he threw the marker on the ground and blew on his hands once more.

His name was Morris.

I had stumbled across this homeless man in San Francisco right before summer had begun. I decided to stop to offer him what I could. While I dug through the various objects of my purse, I pulled out a ten dollar bill and handed it to him with a warm smile. He looked at me with his warm eyes and shook my hand in gratitude. He rummaged through his shopping cart that held miscellaneous items and offered some of his treasures to me: fishing nets, random things he had made of tinfoil, and his wide collection of empty cans. I shook my head and kindly said no, saying that I was more than happy to give a helping hand. He glowed with happiness and said one word: blessed. He smiled once more and we bade good-bye as I left him behind on a cold street corner in the heart of San Francisco.

I often think of him, for I relish in the way he reminds me that I’m blessed, nothing less. A man who has so much less than I do is so grateful for everything beautiful that surrounds him. I remain oblivious to the treasures that I have as I am consumed with my material belongings. I neglect to even appreciate that I wake up to a new day. He said he was blessed because of what I had given to him but the real blessed individual is me for having the opportunity to gain a reminder.

I’m blessed, nothing less.