I have decided that a bar is one of the saddest places in the world.
I worked at Old Chicago. I remember when they had me on the day shift. I opened the restaurant. I would work 10-2 pm each day before heading to my evening job at Chick-fil-A. I remember there was a little old man, who came in three times a week, every time at 11:17 am. He wouldn't speak to anyone. He would nod in my direction and walk to his favorite bar stool, third from the end. He wore a tan coat with black lining. I remember watching him from across the bar. It didn't matter what was on TV, he'd sit there, watch it, and drink his bourbon in peace. There were never more than three people at that time and maybe that's why he chose to come in then. Maybe there was nothing wrong in his life, and he was just a creature of habit who liked the silence of a barren brewery. But I never remember seeing him smile.
This past New Year's my boyfriend and I went to a local bar before they kicked me out at 9 pm because of me not being quite 21 yet. This was the first time I had officially been at a 'bar' bar. My boyfriend says, Old Chicago didn't count.
When I arrived to pick up my beau and his compadre, I saw a parking lot littered with the remains of the celebration. I saw exhaust rising from the cars as they heated up in the frigid new year. I saw one couple in particular that caught my eye. She was draped in a black sequin-y, glittery outfit way above her knees and way underneath her shoulders just like every other girl who had shopped for the perfect New Years outfit, we all do it. I saw a boy leaning over her, hanging onto her every word; winking, smiling, hovering, laughing. You know when you go to a restaurant and its so painfully obvious that someone is on a first date? Everything is awkward and tense and the girl sits there with her shoulders drooping forward out of utter and complete fear and the guy talks too much to make up for her laughing accidentally too loudly at his pathetic excuse for a knock knock joke? That's what these two looked like. And yet, he got in the car with her.
I don't judge anyone and never will.
I went back to this bar the other day for dinner with my boyfriend. It was a quiet Friday night, but that's only because it was 6 pm. The bar was about half way full and there was a Houston football game playing on the screen. I walked in and half smiled at the empty souls seated around me. There was a table of women in their late 20's sipping their fruity drinks showing each other stuff on their phones and laughing as loud as possible to capture any attention they could from the few prospective men in the place. At the next table there was man sitting next to a woman completely entranced in the football game or so I thought until I noticed it was simply a Trident commercial. She tried desperately to get his attention; putting her arm around him, tapping his shoulder, playing with his fingers, nothing. Across the taproom sprawled the bar. Every couple seats occupied. I saw a woman probably in her early 40's drinking alone. She kept leaning to either side of her attempting to make conversation with the people around her; hoping to know someone. Hoping to feel like she belonged. Lastly, a couple walked in. She looked worn and wiry, with a trampled heart. Her face looked like it waned with the weight of a thousand moonless nights pounding on her temple. The man next to her looked, about her age but not as tired. You know those people that you can just feel the life they have been through when they walk through the door? They have faced a world of misery and yet are still strong to all they see. He looked like that.
My boyfriend scolded me. He said it was rude to feel sorry for people. For once, someone had criticized my compassion instead of praised it. I told him it was merely compassion, that my heart broke for the lives they had lived. He told me I didn't know anything about their lives, and he was right.
But what if someone else does.
I don't want to fix anyone, because I simply can't.
It's not my job and I can't.
As Christians do we come off as judgmental for having our hearts break at the sight of people hurting? Or is this all some facade we have created in our minds of normal people that we have to help. Are they really hurting or are we making it up in our heads so that we can seem like good people?
I don't think we are.
When we pray, 'God show us your heart' or 'give us your heart' or 'give us your eyes', I think that's what compassion is when God answers that request. Sometimes people just don't want our sympathy though. No one wants to feel less than anyone else. No one wants to need help. No one wants to be a charity case. If a Christian helps you, you suddenly become one. So they can boast to their friends about what a good person they are. I think that's why Christ says to pray in secret. Do good things in secret, so that it's not about you. It's about the person you're helping. It's about Christ; not your image. He gives us a heart of serving and compassion and empathy for those around us. When we have the Holy Spirit inside of us that is when our hearts began ache and weep when we see homeless hobbling down the street, or when we see young girls in bars looking for love.
People look for love. That is human nature.
If the way you are looking is all you want, so be it. But I can promise there is love in other places.
