I went to Ireland.

I walked down quaint, cobblestone streets and took misty boat rides along the Cliffs of Moher.

I climbed cliffs and stepped in icy waves and traipsed through the softest, greenest grass between the tallest, lushest trees.

I ate fresh seafood and drank Instagram-worthy lattes and rode horseback through the forest.

I scaled boulders, explored castles, and stared at ornate intricacies on cathedral walls.

And while these experiences will always be treasured memories, what I took away from the Emerald Isle was the night I sat down on the cold concrete in Belfast next to a man with no home, no family, no car, no job, fragmented English, missing teeth, a scraggly beard, and clear blue eyes.

We talked about the weather – he told me it only rains two times in Northern Ireland; the days and the weekends. We talked about the city and our hometowns and our work experiences and our families. He smiled when I showed him a picture of my kids.

Born in Czechoslovakia and lived under communism, he opened a business that went bankrupt, he had an injury that put him out of work, he’s tried every job he could find. He talked about learning English in his later years and the struggle to read, write, understand, and speak it. He knew Hungarian, Czech, some Russian and German.

Well-dressed couples stumbled by from the pubs and restaurants nearby. A man came by asking us for spare change, which neither of us had, then he asked for some fresh water. My friend handed the man a bottle of orange soda that someone had given to him.

It was close to an hour when I started to leave. He had two small bags with pastries and some chocolates that he offered me. I felt the guilt over the full dinner I’d just shared with family and the warm hotel I would sleep in that night. I fought my instincts that were appalled at the thought of taking from someone who had nothing, but I’m learning to value the humanity of others and the desire to give. While making a motion of a big belly, I said I could only take one.

He laughed and pushed the bag of candy into my hand and insisted I take it home to my kids. Then he tried to give me the blanket that a local charity had given him.

I asked about his beliefs, to which he replied, “God, Jesus, yes.”

So we held hands and prayed together before I left.

I saw God in every wave and stone and blade of grass, but perhaps nowhere as vividly as in those moments.

I sat down hoping to bless and give but instead, I left with a blessing and a gift.

I left with the reminder that no matter how extreme the differences may seem – we’re all just people. I needed the reminder that when I don’t know how to help or what to do or say, it’s not an excuse to ignore another person. The time and possible discomfort it takes to validate and humanize someone is always, always worth it.