"Your heavenly father knows..." -Jesus Christ

Twenty miles left to my office, I had made a quick left at the last light to avoid traffic. The last thing I needed, I thought, was to stop at the county line. But the lady on the corner caught my eye. She had pulled back her long, gray hair, showing off a frowning face, tan and wrinkled from a life lived under the sun. Her crow's feet framed eyes followed the cars that passed her. She held a sign.
"Homeless. Anything appreciated," it said, scratched in black marker across a cardboard slate.
I groaned a little. Searched for excuses. I was drawn to her, though I let my car roll passed her.
"I don't have anything I don't need," I grumbled. "And if I stop, I'll be late to work."
But I swerved onto the road's shoulder anyway. "What am I doing?" I parked, put on the flashers and searched my car. "I have nothing to give."
I ripped open the top of my console, where I found a bunch of change. I took two fists full and got out of the car.
"Excuse me, ma'am?" my shoes sunk into the sand while I walked up to her. She turned to me.
"It's not much," I said. "But this is for you."
I held up my fists, filled with change; her eyes welled up and she held out her hands.
"Thank you," she said. "God bless you." She fumbled with her bag and her fists full of change and I got back in my car.
While I drove, I felt good. But I wondered whether I had done the right thing. By lunchtime, I got my answer. I walked to a nearby café, ordered my food and walked to the register.
There, the head chef met me.
"Here you go," he slid the plate across the counter. I slid some cash toward him, but he pushed it back.
"Keep it," he said. "Today, lunch is on us."