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I don't even know his name. I didn't think to ask, our
encounter was so brief. But I still remember his face, and
his eyes.
It was a usual chilly morning, not much past dawn when I
turned off the highway, taste buds set for a good hot cup of
coffee. As I rounded the corner for the drive-up window I
saw him in the distance, crossing the barren parking lot. It
was foggy, damp and drizzly, and he wore only denims. He
headed straight to the dumpster but found it within it's own
fortress, locked behind tall gates.
I hastily ordered an extra cup of coffee and a couple of
breakfast sandwiches, hoping he hadn't gotten too far. As I
pulled around, my gaze scanned the area until I saw him, on
the far side by the shopping mall. I wondered where he
might be heading now.
As I pulled up along side, I lowered my window and called
out 'Hey son', and told him I'd brought him a little
breakfast. His humble reply surprised me, "No, you keep
that, you bought it for yourself."
"Oh," I said, "I got some for myself, too. This is for you."
He hesitated as he came up to the car to take the steaming
cup and small bag and seemed obligated to answer a question
that hadn't been asked.
"I've been working the carnie," he said politely. But I knew
the carnival season was long over. His clothes bore the
telltale signs of sleeping on the ground. He shivered in his
thin jacket which was little comfort against the cold. He
teeth had gone the way of all teeth without proper care. I
thought of my twice-a-year cleanings, and gold crowns. His
rugged face exceeded his years I thought. I was sure there
were no daily handfuls of vitamins in his routine, nor
routine doctor visits, nor medication for common colds or
flu.
As I briefly glanced into his gentle eyes, I caught a
glimpse of a tender heart, even with all that life seems to
have been to him. And I thought of his mother. This was some
mother's son--her bouncing baby boy that she conceived and
carried and birthed. Where was she now, I wondered. Does
she know what has become of her precious son? Is she alive
and does she know that he is alive, or care? I thought of my
own son, still in his youth, and his sweet, tender spirit.
How could I live without him? Without knowing where he was
and that he was well?
"God bless you." he said.
"Thank you!" I replied most sincerely. "May the Lord bless
YOU."
He headed for shelter from the drizzle under the eave of a
not-yet-opened store and disappeared from my rear-view
mirror. I wished I'd bought a whole bag of sandwiches. How
does this happen to a human being, that he looks for
breakfast in a dumpster? Was he not able to finish school?
Did he run away from home at a young age? Was he or did he
feel abandoned? Did he abuse drugs and alcohol? Who's to
know? I cried all the way to work.
I now have a special envelope stuck between the car seats
where I keep a small supply of gift certificates to
McDonalds, Burger King and a restaurant and grocery. And
when I'm driving, I keep an eye out for someone who looks
like he might need a meal. It doesn't cost much or take
much effort, and I no longer have to look the other way as I
pass by.
I think of him now and then and remember to pray that the
Father of all would touch his life. I wish he could know
how he touched mine, and changed me forever.
?© Jill Burnett
jill@atthewell.com
I exercise common sense and due caution when passing out
meal certificates. My husband and I and our precious teenage
son live in the
Pacific Northwest
where I enjoy working on my website,
http://www.AtTheWell.com and as often as possible making
the hour+ drive to the ocean, one of my most favorite places
on earth.
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