Can You Give Hope to the Hopeless?
Everywhere I looked, it was there, etched and carved into the lines on their faces, expressed in hunched shoulders and vacant eyes, this cancer that devours neither organ nor body, but gnaws deeper, sucking the very life of the soul.
Rain was smattering the ground and the thick air made it hard to breathe. They say in Rome it doesn’t rain. It pours. Tourists abandon the sights and flock indoors, streets empty out, the only sound the raindrops hitting the pavement. The early winter air sent chills down to the bone, and I was rushing through errands, my only wish to get home.
I was in a part of the city I rarely visit. Away from the historical sights, gone were the beggars, the vendors, and the local artists who populate the paths of sightseers. Graffiti covered the walls, and no one stood at shop entrances, inviting those passing by to check out their fare. A silence pervaded the air, still as the night, accompanied by the droning noise of the falling rain and disturbed by the occasional whine of a passing motorbike.
I turned the corner and entered a covered walkway. In stark contrast to the streets, it was filled with people seeking refuge from the downpour. But that wasn’t what struck me. What I found haunting was the continued silence. Deafening and hostile.
I looked around at the faces and all I saw was an emptiness. They were sitting there, not just waiting for the rain to pass, but as if they were waiting for their sadness to slip away. As if they didn’t have anywhere to go, nothing to see, nothing to do, nothing to hope for.
Most of them non-Italians. People who came in search of work, a new life, an opportunity, something more. Yet here they were, without a place, without a home, grabbing onto their packs, huddled into corners, trying to preserve every ounce of heat, living their lives — no — waiting it out, watching it slip away. The opportunity they hoped for, nowhere in sight.
And this loneliness, this hopelessness, this lack of motivation was suffocating, thickening the air even further, casting a bleak shadow upon the already dreary night.
And the saddest of all were their eyes. Downcast, as if darkness shrouded everything. The world had taken its toll upon them, and they no longer seemed to believe that this life had anything left. They got the short end of the stick, and it wasn’t long enough to survive. As I walked by, person after person, no one looked up or seemed to notice that I existed. Kindness hadn’t shown its face to them, so how could they give it in return?
You know that feeling when you stumble into the wrong place? When everything just seems wrong?
I wanted to get out of there as quickly as I could. The whole situation was uncomfortable. I didn’t belong there and I knew it.
But then, I caught something in the corner of my eye. Someone looking at me. I avoided the stare and kept walking.
But the gaze kept its focus.
My eyes betrayed me, stealing a glance, and I saw her.
I shouldn’t have.
I was wrong. She wasn’t looking at me.
She was looking through me.
Sitting on a ledge next to a pillar, in ragged clothes that once were stylish, she wasn’t much older than I. But her eyes told a different story, of a life of hardship, loneliness, disillusionment, and suffering. It was as if she had the whole world beating down on her shoulders. Her face was blank, her eyes staring into space, her mind disconnected from the world around her. Everything about her expressed one word: hopelessness.
My heart dropped. I wanted to help, but I didn’t know how.
The sight stunned me. Here, in the middle of a modernized first world country, in one of the most visited places on earth, you had people like her. People drowning in their own sorrow, dying for lack of hope.
Unsure of what to do, I walked on.
I went home that night but my heart stayed behind, to that covered walkway in the rain, next to that girl.
I couldn’t shake her image from my mind. It wasn’t just the sadness, but the hopelessness. As if she had given up. As if there was no more purpose, no more joy, no more light.
And my conscience kept at me, “How can you say that you dedicated your life to serving others when you can’t even help those people? When you can’t even help her? How can you dare call yourself a messenger of hope?”
It was true. I couldn’t help her. I didn’t know how.
I know that no matter how much I try, I can’t help the whole world.
But it’s not about the whole world, it’s about these concrete people, about this one person, this girl on the side of the street.
When you look into the eyes of despair, can you just walk by unmoved?
The questions kept beating at my heart:
How can I give hope to one who feels hopeless?
How can I give hope to someone who has suffered more than I have?
How can I give hope to someone who’s received less love than I have?
How can I help someone cheer up when I’ve never seen the darkness that they’ve seen?
In the midst of my thoughts, a little light arose in my heart. I can’t always understand everyone, where they come from, or what they’ve suffered. That’s a given. I can’t see the world as they see it. I can’t solve every problem.
But there’s one thing I can give.
I can show that I care. That they’re not alone in the world. That someone is not oblivious to their wounds and their pain. That someone loves them and values as a person. That there’s hope because someone cares, because someone loves, because someone wants to help, to help them live, to help them thrive.
My encounter with that girl taught me something: that in the face of pain and suffering and hopelessness, there is always an answer. An answer of care, an answer of love. And it doesn’t always require a lot of charitable acts or money or time. Sometimes all it takes is just a simple hello or a sincere smile to let the other know that, “To me, you matter. To me, you count. To me, you mean something.”
Next time I walked by that spot, the people were still there, but she was gone. I never saw her again. I lost my chance, my moment to help. And I’m sorry that I didn’t know what to do when that time came.
To that girl I’ll never meet:
Hi. I know we don’t know each other. I saw you on a cold rainy Roman night and you probably didn’t see me. You probably didn’t notice me, but I noticed you. I don’t know your history, what led you to that solitary ledge, but when I saw you, my heart fell out of its place. I saw your despair, your sadness, and your hopelessness, and I wanted to help but didn’t know how.
I walked on and I regretted every step. I went away. I left you alone. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t do anything. That I just walked off. I didn’t know any better. But I want you to know that you were not alone. That somebody did feel with your suffering. Someone who’s not here to judge nor condemn you for the hardships that life gave you, but who’s here to show you he cares, about you, for who you are.
That night, you were the one in need, yet you were the one who gave. You taught me a lesson that I’ll carry for the rest of my life. That in the face of suffering, in the face of hopelessness, there is always an answer, the answer of love.
I’m sorry I didn’t know this when I saw you. But now I do. Now I know better. And I won’t let it happen again.
I promise.
— David
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