Yesterday, as I was returning from a mission, I walked past an Iraqi man sitting under the shade of a tree. His crutches lay on the ground to either side of him. The ground was burning yesterday, as it does all summer in Baghdad. The unknown Iraqi looked hot and forlorn. He spoke to me in broken English, holding up some tattered papers with Arabic text on them.
In his heavy accent, the cripple explained to me that he needed a wheelchair and that it would cost $100. He wanted my help. I was carrying all my gear, and I was tired and sweaty and thirsty from my mission. I explained to the man that I would be right back. After I dumped my gear, I returned to the crippled Iraqi sitting alone under a tree.
I gave the man a bottle of cold water and the money in my wallet. Not enough to buy a wheelchair, but it was what I happened to have in my pocket yesterday. There are different ways to help people. I am just one man in a harsh country where thuggery has long been the determining factor in who wields the power and who lives well. I didn’t know this man’s life story, nor will I ever. But I gave him what help I could.
As I walked away, he said, "I love you Mister."