City of Angels

I've been in LA one week now, and it has passed in a whirlwind. So many sights and sounds have bombarded me this week, I am almost tempted to shut them out already. But the danger in shutting out all of the car noises, the cat calls, and the buzzing conversations is that I might shut out the small yet bright glimmers of hope that I have found in this city.
Our first day in LA, Kim and I were attempting to find our own way to Elysian Park for a BBQ with the other LA termers and their host families, and we had no idea what we were doing. We just kind of walked to the metro and tried to figure it out from there. Epic fail. We stood looking at the map and pointing for a few minutes, clearly confused, until a man asked us if we needed help.
He was pretty young, but looked older than he probably was. It was clear that he was struggling with drug addiction. He was a little dirty. But he stood with us for five full minutes looking at our Google Maps printout and trying to decide which routes we should take. He was determined to help us get where we were going, even though we were perfect strangers. And when he left, he said, "You're welcome," and disappeared on a train. He didn't wait around for a tip or act like we'd wasted his time. He just wanted to know if we needed help, and we did. So he helped us.
I can't explain why it was so beautiful to me, or why I wished the train hadn't come yet so we could learn his name. Probably because he became our friend in that moment. He became our family. In the same way, the young man on the bus who held the door open to make sure it didn't close on the big group of girls getting off (us), was family to me. As he stood there holding the door, not looking at any of us or anyone in particular, I got the warmest feeling in the pit of my chest. I wanted to turn around and run back to him, take the headphones out of his ears and say "I love you. Thank you for being so kind." Somehow I knew, beneath his hoodie and his scowl and his stigma, he was just a very kind young man. He was someone's son, someone's big brother.
So was the twenty-something year old who asked us for change at the bus station to get home to San Diego, because he had just gotten out of jail, spent 21 days, and was so tired. He was just so tired, and he wanted to go home. I've felt that feeling, brother. I'm tired too... I hope you have someone you love to go home to.
I wanted to hug the Middle Eastern man who walked a full block with us today to show us where the Macys was. He was waiting for someone, but he showed us anyway. He was like an angel.
These people are showing me the beauty of a collective human family that exists somewhere in the realm of "should"s. I am starting to see a glimpse of the Los Angeles that lies beneath the stereotypes, the true City of Angels. Who knows? Maybe those men were angels, passing me by on my way home, or theirs. If so, Lord forgive me for not asking that man his name, or telling him I love him, or digging a little longer in my purse for change. It's going to take a little time to learn to spot angels. But that is my biggest prayer.
This semester in LA, I want to see the angels that dwell unnoticed or ignored in the city. The homeless man sitting across from me on the bus, or the single mom in the grocery store. And I don't want to let those moments pass me by without the chance to look into someone's eyes and see their humanity, and allow them to see mine. And in that moment we will become family, and this city of Angels will become my home. Lord, give me Your eyes this semester.