By Merri Creek

It was a cosy kind of day in East Brunswick. The streets were lush with leaves and the sky purple with unrequited rain. I crossed over the Merri Creek, journal in hand, half-composed poems and - strangely - lyrics from "Good King Wenceslas" stuck in my head:

Therefore, Christian men be sure,

Wealth or rank possessing:

You who now will bless the poor

Shall yourselves find ble-essing.

I came to the northern side of the Normanby Road underpass, where, walking this way before, I had passed a girl curled up against the sign which says, "Making history along Merri Creek". I had noticed her then, and wondered if she was okay, wondering also what reason anyone would have for sleeping beside Merri Creek. This time, the girl was not sleeping. She was walking the opposite way along the path, eyes to the ground. She had a plastic bag in hand. Her clothes were presentable enough but bedraggled. She stumbled once as she walked, but not in a way that suggested danger or incapacity. Our eyes met at one point and she gave an evasive smile. I looked back once or twice as I walked on, to see that she was okay. I wondered if there was anything else I could do. It seemed all I had the power to do was to pray, to commit her to the God who sees her every step, knows exactly why she is there, and exactly what to do to help.

I know that I am reluctant to help those I see in need; I know I will grab any excuse I can find to do nothing. It wouldn't be appropriate. She's a young girl walking alone. What would she think of a young man stopping and asking her if she was okay? It wouldn't be wise. It wouldn't be safe. Excuses, yes, but also all true. Yet so, I am sure, would have seemed the excuses of the Levite and the Pharisee as they kept walking on the Jericho road: It isn't safe to stop here, alone. The road is filled with murderers and thieves.

Thank God, He sees my weakness and heard my prayers. I do not know what will happen to that girl. I pray that she will be okay.