One hot summer, in a church bookshop, I worked with a young woman that everyone called “the little red-headed girl.” She was far younger than anyone else working there, a recent high school graduate. She was a joy to work with. There was such an air of innocence about her that the rest of us tried to look out for her. It’s not that we worked in a rough neighborhood. But that particular summer there were many incidents with homeless men who drank too much. There was panhandling, a few fights, and sleeping in the pews. The police were called often. So when the little red-headed girl sat at the main entrance of the church, as we all did at some point in our shifts, we worried about her. She was always fine, and would later relay funny stories of incidents with parishoners, tourists and sometimes the homeless men. Because of her youth, some of us more jaded folk found ourselves on occasion smiling condescendingly … especially when we discovered what she was doing with the angel coins. You see, the bookshop sold pewter angel coins for a dollar each. The girl would regularly buy several coins. When asked why, she explained that she gave them to people — friends and family for sure, but also to strangers on the street. Eventually the summer neared its end. The red-headed girl headed off to her first year of college.
Perhaps a week or two later, I sat at the front desk. I watched as a man approached the glass doors of the entrance way. He did not know or care that I could see him as he tried to make himself presentable, wiping his face with his shirt tails and using saliva to smooth back his hair. When he entered, as I expected, he reeked of alcohol. I simply said, “Welcome. How may I help you?”
He wrung his hands. “I’m here for the AA meeting.”
I glanced at the clock. “Sir, I’m sorry, but the AA meeting is three hours from now. Just come back and …”
“Don’t send me away. Please let me wait in there,” he said, indicating the sanctuary. “If I leave now, I won’t come back.”
“Sir,” I said softly, “You know the church’s policy …”
“I’ll pray, ” he said.
“You can’t fall asleep.” My shift was nearly over. I wouldn’t be able to go in and wake him up before security tossed him out.
“I won’t,” he promised.
Still feeling uncertain, I smiled and opened the door. As he entered the sanctuary, he turned to me. “Is that red-headed girl here?”
“Why do ask, sir?”
He reached into his pocket. “She gave me this,” he said as he held out his hand. An angel coin, of course. “I’ve been holding it tight since she gave it to me one day.” He placed it carefully back in his pocket, stepped inside the sanctuary, sat in a pew and bowed his head. I don’t know if he prayed. I don’t know if he made it to the AA meeting. I don’t know where he is this day. I just know from that incident that hot summer I learned from a little red-headed girl what a difference a small gift can make.
