Open Doorby Koren Whitney, Feeding Hills, MA"Mommy, Mom-my, there's someone going through our trash. What's he doing?" I yelled as I watched the dirt-covered man dig through our barrels one trash morning. I didn't understand what he was doing. "Go outside and play in the back, Koren, and take your sisters with you," my mom yelled back, while walking out the front door. Listening to her, we ran out the back door and snuck around to get a better look. The man must have been in his early sixties, I would guess. His face was unshaven and he was dressed in worn clothes, spotted with holes and grime.As he noticed my mom walking toward him, a nervous expression crossed his face. But my mom continued to approach with a smile on her face. Not only was he confused, so was I. "What is she doing talking to him?" To make matters even more confusing, she led him to our front door and then inside. I couldn't take it anymore; I had to get closer to see what was going on!She led him down to our basement to a bundle of large plastic bags that I soon found were filled with my grandfather's and dad's old clothes. My mom started sorting through them, finding shirts, pants and even an old (but good) suit that fit him.As he was leaving, he spoke to my mother about his home and family, but what I noticed most were the tears in his eyes. Thanking my mom for her kindness and generosity and asking God to bless her and her family, he walked down to the street. He placed his bag of clothes in a crate fastened to the back of his bicycle and rode off. We never heard from him or saw him again."God would want us to share with those who are in need of something we have so much of," my mom told me when I asked her why she had done what she did. Today, the man's name isn't remembered by us, but his image is still molded in my memory and reminds me of the great kindness and faith my mother shared with him. Who knows the possibilities that may have happened in his future because my mother opened her door and heart to him. fl