As a kid, growing up in the little, one-horse town of Oswego, KS...circa 1950s, with a population of 2,500, on a good day...I got to see a lot of drifters (known as hobos back then) coming and going down the highway that ran through my hometown. The fact this highway passed by a small open field located only yards away from the front of my home afforded me a bird's-eye view of the hobos making their way into or out of the city limits. Occasionally, my brother and I, as well as other neighborhood kids, would be playing ball in that open field next to the highway, where we could get a closer look at some of those folks. I remember often wondering how they had come to find themselves in that sort of life. That memory came flooding back to me again here recently when I happened across the following anonymous first-person account on the Internet.
Author Unknown(Posted online by Otay Michael)I sat with two friends in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town square. The food and the company were both especially good that day. Christmas was just around the corner.
As we talked, my attention was drawn outside, across the street. There, walking into town, was a man who appeared to be carrying all his worldly goods on his back. He was carrying a well-worn sign that read, "I will work for food." My heart sank. I brought him to the attention of my friends and noticed that others around us had stopped eating to focus on him. Heads moved in a mixture of sadness and disbelief.
We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways. I had errands to do and quickly set out to accomplish them. I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat halfheartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call for some response. I drove through town but saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at a store and got back in my car.
Deep within me, the Spirit of God kept speaking to me: "Don't go back to the office until you've at least driven once more around the square." Then, with some hesitancy, I headed back into town. As I turned the square's third corner, I saw him. He was standing on the steps of the storefront church, going through his sack. I stopped and looked; feeling both compelled to speak to him, yet wanting to drive on. An empty parking space on the corner seemed to be a sign from God: an invitation to park. I pulled in, got out, and approached the town's newest visitor.
"Looking for the pastor?" I asked.
"Not really," he replied. "Just resting."
"Have you eaten today?"
"Oh, I ate something early this morning."
"Would you like to have lunch with me?"
"Do you have some work I could do for you?"
"No work," I replied. "I commute here to work from the city, but I would like to take you to lunch."
"Sure," he replied with a smile.
As he began to gather his things, I asked some surface questions. "Where you headed?"
"St. Louis."
"Where you from?"
"Oh, all over; mostly Florida."
"How long you been walking?"
"Fourteen years," came the reply.
I knew I had met someone unusual. We sat across from each other in the same restaurant I had left earlier. His face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were dark yet clear, and he spoke with an eloquence and articulation that was startling. He removed his jacket to reveal a bright red T-shirt that said, "Jesus Is the Never-Ending Story."
Then Daniel's story began to unfold. He had seen rough times early in life. He'd made some wrong choices and reaped the consequences.
Fourteen years earlier, while backpacking across the country, he had stopped on the beach in Daytona. He tried to hire on with some men who were putting up a large tent and some equipment. A concert, he thought. He was hired, but the tent would not house a concert--revival services, instead. And in those services, he saw life more clearly. He gave his life over to God.
"Nothing's been the same since," he said. "I felt the Lord telling me to keep walking, and so I did, some 14 years now."
"Ever think of stopping?" I asked.
"Oh, once in a while, when it seems to get the best of me. But God has given me this calling. I give out Bibles. That's what's in my sack. I work to buy food and Bibles, and I give them out when His Spirit leads."
I sat amazed. My homeless friend was not homeless. He was on a mission and lived this way by choice. The question burned inside for a moment and then I asked: "What's it like?"
"What?"
"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show your sign."
"Oh, it was humiliating at first. People would stare and make comments. Once someone tossed a piece of half-eaten bread and made a gesture that certainly didn't make me feel welcome. But then it became humbling to realize that God was using me to touch lives and change people's concepts of other folks like me."
My concept was changing, too. We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door, he paused, turned to me, and said, "Come Ye blessed of my Father and inherit the kingdom I've prepared for you. For when I was hungry, you gave me food; when I was thirsty, you gave me drink; a stranger, and you took me in."
I felt as if we were standing on holy ground. "Could you use another Bible?" I asked.
He said he preferred a certain translation. It traveled well and was not too heavy. It also was his personal favorite. "I've read through it 14 times," he said.
"I'm not sure we've got one of those, but let's stop by our church and see." I was able to find my new friend a Bible that would do well, and he seemed very grateful.
"Where are you headed from here?"
"Well, I found this little map on the back of this amusement-park coupon."
"Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?"
"No, I just figure I should go there. I figure someone under that star right there needs a Bible, so that's where I'm going next." He smiled, and the warmth of his spirit radiated the sincerity of his mission. I drove him back to the town square, where we'd met two hours earlier. As we drove, it started raining. We parked and unloaded his things.
"Would you sign my autograph book?" he asked. "I like to keep messages from folks I meet."
I wrote in his little book that his commitment to his calling had touched my life. I encouraged him to stay strong. And I left him with a verse of scripture from Jeremiah, "I know the plans I have for you, declared the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you a future and a hope."
"Thanks, man," he said. "I know we just met, and we're really just strangers, but I love you."
"I know," I said. "I love you, too."
"The Lord is good!"
"Yes, He is. How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked.
"A long time," he replied.
And so, on this busy street corner in the drizzling rain, my new friend and I embraced, and I felt deep inside that I had been changed. He put his things on his back, smiled his winning smile, and said, "See you in the New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply.
He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign dangling from the bedroll and pack of Bibles. He stopped, turned and said, "When you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
"You bet!" I shouted back. "God bless!" And that was the last I saw of him.
Late that evening, as I left my office, the wind was blowing strong. The cold front had settled hard upon the town. I bundled up and hurried to my car. As I sat back and reached for the emergency brake, I saw them...a pair of well-worn brown work gloves neatly laid over the length of the handle. I picked them up and thought of my friend and wondered if his hands would stay warm that night without them. Then I remembered his earlier words: "If you see something that makes you think of me, will you pray for me?"
Today, his gloves lie on my desk in my office. They help me to see the world and its people in a new way, and they help me remember those two hours with my newfound friend and to pray for his ministry. "See you in the New Jerusalem," he had said.
Yes, Daniel, I know I will.
"I shall pass this way but once. Therefore, any good that I can do or any kindness that I can show, let me do it now, for I shall not pass this way again."
"Father, I ask You to bless my friends, relatives and e-mail buddies reading this right now. Show them a new revelation of Your love and power. Holy Spirit, I ask You to minister to their spirit at this very moment. Where there is pain, give them Your peace and mercy. Where there is self-doubt, release a renewed confidence through Your grace; where there is a search for Your truth, open their eyes, in Jesus' precious name. Amen."
As I read this touching story, I couldn't help reflecting on the sad state our world is in today, with all the constant hate, bickering and growing discontent. We should be grateful that God doesn't just remove His hand and let all of us self-destruct. From where I sit, it sure looks like that's what a lot of folks are hell-bent on trying to do. Remember Iron Eyes Cody, the actor who played an Indian shedding a tear at the sight of a littered American landscape in a TV commercial? I can't help but wonder if the good Lord isn't also shedding a tear as He sees just how far we inhabitants of His creation have fallen from grace. God help all of us, 'cause we certainly don't appear to be able...or willing, at least...to help ourselves...a sad commentary, indeed.
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