The Pickpocket, Jean Valjean, and Me

I have one more Paris post, but there are no pictures, just some thoughts.

Before we left for Paris, many people warned us about pickpocketing, and told us that it was a big problem in Paris.  Many places that we went, including all over the Louvre, we saw signs like these:

Other than once when Dallin thought maybe someone tried to reach into his empty pocket on the Metro, we felt relieved that we had not had any experiences with this.  We took many precautions.  Dallin and I carried nothing on us except our passports and museum passes.  Rick took eveything else in a backpack that was easy to carry in the front as well as on his back.  When we were in a crowed place, like the Metro, he would swing it around to the front where he could easily protect it.

On Monday, we left the hotel and walked to the train station to catch the train to the airport.  As we were going down the escalator, it stopped.  Dallin and Rick were in front of me.  I slung my carry on bag over my shoulder, lifted my luggage, and started walking down the crowded steps.  Some movement to my right caught my eye, and I looked down in time to see some fingers quickly pull away from the zipper on the bag over my shoulder.  It had only been opened about an inch, I'd seen it in time.  Startled, I whipped my head around to see who it had been.  I saw a scrawny boy, probably 13-15 years old.  The quick dart of his eyes to mine confirmed my suspicion, and I GLARED at him.  Because the stairs were crowded, and we were only about halfway down, he had to remain behind me the rest of the way down.  I was very shaken and was relieved to reach the bottom where I relayed the incident to Rick and Dallin.  As I turned to show them the boy, we saw him, with a couple other teenagers head up the stairs, clearly just hanging around looking for unsuspecting tourists.

As I continued down the stairs, aware of the boys discomfort to still be behind me, my heart racing with fear and anger, I was reminded of the story I had just recently read.  If you've been reading my posts about Paris, you know that I was reading Les Miserables.  I had been so moved as I had read the account of Jean Valjean and the bishop from whom he stole the silver.  In response, the bishop gave him his silver candlesticks as well, and as a result, Jean Valjean turned his life to God, and helping his fellow man.  He began to put the needs of others before his own.  I had heard the story many times before, but reading the full story as written by Victor Hugo was very moving to me.  I thought of the pure love of Christ that that bishop had, and the difference it had made in Jean Valjean's life.  When the story came back to my mind, as I descended those stairs in the train station, I felt ashamed for the glare I had given that boy, and I wished that I had had the guts to respond differently.  Perhaps I could have offered him a stick of gum (I didn't have much more he would have wanted in my bag anyway), or if I'd been in the right mindset, perhaps I would have remembered the three Metro tickets we had and were never going to use, and could have offered them to him and his friends.  I know that some people might think this is naiive of me.  You can't just go through life being kind to every thief and rapist, but I could have shown him some kindness.  He was just a boy, and I really have no idea how hard his life is.  That day, I "leveled up" in my compassion for my fellow human beings.  Perhaps like the Grinch, my heart grew three sizes that day, and like Jean Valjean I began to understand what a little love and compassion from another human being can mean.  Although I clearly hope that I don't encounter such a thing again, if I do, I want to do better.  I want to respond with love in my heart, instead of fear.  And so, I will try to foster that love in my heart now, in my everyday life, so that I can see others the way that God sees them.