The guy asking for trolley fare at the entrance of the subway was either homeless or close to it. I was on the phone and brushed past him before he could even get the words out. But I knew what he needed. Two bucks. 

Have you ever tried to change someone? I don’t mean befriend or be generous. I mean fix. Alter. Pick up all of their hurts and problems like a carpet bag and toss it off a bridge for them. “Look, you’re free now.”

I didn’t have a reason not to give the man two dollars. A wad of bills sat in my backpack and he stood empty handed, waiting. Given my caffeine intake that morning, he needed it more than I needed another iced coffee. So jogging back up the stairs, I forked over the money and disappeared before he could say thanks. 

If only bus fare could change a person’s life. If only a text could alter a mindset. If only a kind word could set them free.

I’ve prayed for you so long. Loved you so long. Why won’t you change? 

You know them just as well as I do. The friend that persistently ends up in demeaning relationships. The self-destructive coworker who is never wrong, her problems always caused by someone else. The family member who has destroyed family and livelihood on excuses and an endless bottle of Uncle Vlad’s. 

True, much of life is born from circumstance – geography being destiny. And for me, it’s hardest when it’s a child. As a teenager, I worked in Children’s Church and spent my Sunday mornings with kids bussed-in from low-income housing who stank of weed and unwashed hair. They were always so hungry, drinking up attention and chocolate milk like flowers in a rain shower. But despite our best efforts, the endless parade of Vacation Bible Schools and free meals at school, so many of them remained defined by their neighborhood. Destined to become their parents. To raise children mirror-images of themselves, hungry and forlorn.

But we all know that neither location nor education define a person’s ability to change. I know kids born into wealthy homes, raised in private education, and endowed with intellectual ability, who still throw it away on selfishness, on pride, on the need to pursue their own happiness at the expense of others. Despite the stack of good cards sitting on the table, they’ll still choose to walk away, and you couldn’t change their mind any easier than you could convince an addict to stop injecting. 

Some people are like loose teeth. They look ready, but when you start wiggling and twisting at them, it only ends in blood and sore feelings. 

I’ve cared so much. Done so much for you. Why won’t you change?

There are days that I get so tired of trying to help. I’m worn out standing on the bridge and watching you creep along the river bank to fish out your carpet bag yet again. Every time you go back, you hurt me. Maybe you don’t deserve my money or my tears. Maybe I don’t owe you any more patience. But does that mean I stop?

And if so, when?

There may be a day when we have to let go, when our physical presence does more harm than good, feeding a cycle of abuse and manipulation. In those situations, we have to unravel the knot and let them drift their way. I can’t tell you when that day is, for me or for you. I just hope when that day comes, we’ll know.

Because I really do believe that only God can change a human heart. Otherwise, it’s like asking a cow to stop eating grass or convincing Snoop not to sleep on the couch. It’s in our nature to screw up. Natural for us to cling to the things that disservice ourselves and dishonor our Maker. Sheer will-power won’t keep us from self-destructive sin.

There’s nothing so painful as watching a person you love reject help. We can do everything right for them, check all the boxes, and still fail. If it’s ultimately up to some Divine Orchestrator, why even bother?

And yet, for some reason, Jesus still said stuff like – Give to the one who asks you, and do not turn away from the one who wants to borrow from you. And even harder – forgive them not just seven times, but seventy times seven.

Maybe that verse in First John sums it up the best – Let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth. So, despite the apparent futility of knocking on a soul as hard as concrete, we’re still asked to do it. To slowly chip away. To be the tools in His hands that change each other. 

I’d also argue that the tool He uses most is persistence. Persistence and presence. The kind of determination that says, I was here yesterday and I’ll be here tomorrow, regardless of what you decide to do today. It’s not flashy or fulfilling. It’s often draining, done in the quiet, far away from Instagram likes and Facebook shout-outs. But it’s the example we’re given to follow.  

Prayer, persistence, and presence. I’m turning into my mother with her first-grade-teacher penchant for alliteration. 

We can’t do it for everyone. I’ll never see the man at the subway again. He’s been set adrift, a face I wouldn’t recognize even if I saw it again. My two dollars is like a single rain drop in the millions of details of his life, but it was still a detail. And details make up a life. 

If instead of a trip to Station Square he used my money to bum a couple cigarettes, so be it. I can’t let every one of my actions be decided by possibility. 

So ultimately, I guess that’s all I’m left with. The knowledge that I can’t change, fix, or mend you. Whether you’re the homeless guy downtown, the child with a growling belly, or the relative with a trunk-full of baggage –  I cannot alter your heart or your circumstances. But I can be present. I can pray. I can give when you need it. And maybe God will use me, just one detail, just one drop in the bucket. Maybe not today or tomorrow. 

But one day.