What If It Was You On That Corner? What If It Were Me?

I woke up dreaming about football.

I seriously have no idea what is wrong with me.

Maybe it's hormonal.
Maybe it's lack of anything to look forward to.
Maybe I'm just weird like that.

And yes, the last option, well... maybe the first one, too... is most likely the correct choice. To say I have nothing to look forward to would be to say there is nothing going on in my life and that would be a lie. Today, for example, I have little smokies and meatballs and hopefully some chicken wings to look forward to. Tomorrow, I have a half-a-day of work to look forward to. Next week, I'll have a paycheck to look forward to. Next month, we've got a Can't Wait To See How The Lord's Gonna Pull This One Off moment to look forward to.

There's plenty going on. Plenty to look forward to. Plenty to pray about.

We are in The Land of Plenty.

Anyway.

Yesterday I took the youngest out so she could spend her hard-earned babysitting money. At one particular stoplight, we noticed a ragged-looking old man walking from car to car as he held up his cardboard sign for the passerby's to see. On our way out of the shopping center, we were waiting in the same intersection for the light to change. He was on our side, a sight we see far too often.

Different person. Different crossing. Same sign.

I was pretty sure I had a dollar and as it turned out, there was two. Rolling down the window, I handed it to my daughter who in turn handed it to him. He smiled with stained, crooked teeth while thanking and blessing us profusely. The light changed and he stepped back to wait for the next line of cars.

The girl and I talked about that man as we drove away. How do you know he'll use the money he gets for food? You don't. Simple as that. The husband will often recall the time he was at a convenience store picking up trash and dug deep into his pockets to give a man (who asked) his last $1.47 only to see the guy walk straight into the store to purchase a single can of beer. The time was eight in the morning. He, the husband, was so mad that he stopped the guy as stepped outside and popped the top. I won't repeat here the exchange of words.

So the only thing I could say to my girl was this,

But for the grace of God, that is not us on the corner.

Not your dad, hoping to bring something home. Not me, wondering what we'll do tomorrow. Not you kids, looking for a place to sleep. What that man does with any money he collects is between him and the Lord. Period.

He was on my mind, though, when I crawled into bed last night. I don't know why his face stayed with me. In our area, you see the homeless all the time. Under the bridges, pushing their carts, lined up by The Salvation Army. It's a sight so common, it's easy to grow immune to it, but that guy... that old man with the stained, crooked teeth smiling and thanking and blessing us profusely... he's a sight I won't soon forget.

I wonder what the Lord's got in mind now.

I'm not where I want to be, but I'm not where I was...  He's still working on me.