Occasionally, I wish I was a guy.

There is nothing remotely correct in your speculation of the reasoning behind this title, so keep reading.

Story time: Tonight, on the way to celebrate a friend’s birthday and stopped at a red light, I saw him. He had the appearance of any other normal guy I would know. He was about 27 and sporting the vintage rocker look, equipped with worn-out chucks, a V-neck solid white tee, a scruffy beard, and a green travel backpack. Yet, there was something distinctively different about him than other guys I know. He didn’t have anywhere to go tonight.

It was late, it was dark, and it wasn’t a location that people regularly ‘hang out’. Yet there he sat, facing against the traffic, without a jacket, and maintaining a very stoic expression. There was a sense of heartache and desperation in his dark eyes, eyes that were very distant from the cigarette at which he stared. It was apparent that he was floating, that he wasn’t just taking a breather or just had a fight with his girlfriend. He was a gypsy.

Questions immediately started flowing through my head, as I became intensely focused on this stranger. What is his story? Where is he from? How did he get here? Where is his family? Why can’t he stay with them? How long has he gone without a true home? What does he need? What is going on inside his head, his heart, and his soul? How can I help?

And that’s the moment I became frustrated with being female. Why couldn’t I just give this guy a ride, a free late night dinner, and a couch to sleep on while he has time to do what he needs to do? I honestly COULD provide all of those things for him, so why couldn’t I? Maybe it would completely supply his needs. Ahh the frustration of being of the ‘weaker sex’-to quote Peter. Why do we have to live in a world where it is unsafe and unwise for a 24 year old female to help a stranger, to be hospitable, and to take action with love? I knew in my head that everyone who loves me would kill me if I offered the man a ride. Regardless of the intentions.

Someone behind me honks. I snap back to reality, or my reality anyway. The light is green. I have no cash, no food, or anything beyond girly sunglasses and lip gloss to give him. At this point, tears were ruining my freshly applied makeup-as if that is something to be concerned about. How awful it is that I look at this man with a broken heart, and then consciously continue driving? I say a prayer for him because that’s all I safely know to do.

The rest of the drive I ponder his life and mine. He probably has four times as many stories, and he isn’t much older. He’s probably felt more pain and loneliness than I can fathom. He probably knows what really is important in life, and he probably doesn’t concern himself with my everyday struggles.

Life isn’t fair for him. Why is his situation what it is? How did I get the privilege of being born into a phenomenal family knowing I am loved, when not everyone else does? Why do I get to live in a one bedroom apartment, go out with friends whenever the situation arises, to have more books than shelves, and have enough shoes to go two months before repeating, and this guy probably sleeps outside? Why do I get to have an easy go at many aspects of life when some people have to persevere through constant contention? It isn’t fair.

And then I am so absolutely thankful that God isn’t fair. That His grace isn’t fair. That His mercy isn’t fair. That His love isn’t fair. And that His sacrifice isn’t fair. Fair would be bad news. Fair would mean I receive what I deserve. If my “righteous deeds are like filthy rags” then I really do not want what I deserve. Thankfully God is faithful, and he says, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith – and this not from yourselves, it is the gift of God – not by works so that no one can boast.” – Ephesians 2:8-9. And because God’s justice isn’t fair, I want EVERYTHING to do with Christ. “But let all who take refuge in you be glad; let them ever sing for joy. Spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may rejoice in you.” –Psalm 5:11