The hobo and the donut

He didn’t have anything. Not really. Just a few extra clothes in a bag.
But, nowhere to go, nowhere to eat, no one to call family anymore.

I’m sure he made some bad choices that got him there. Mental health issues and substance abuse lead you to chase away the very people that should  care about you the most. On another day, I might be looking for him, or fighting him, or driving him to jail.

But, this morning he was just sitting there in a forgotten corner, eating a pastry that someone must have given him instead of money. After all, he might just use it to buy booze.

I couldn’t quite figure out what kind of pastry it was, so, being me, I asked him. After just a minute of talking about it, he asked if I wanted half of it. It seemed surprisingly generous for someone that didn’t know when he’d get to again, or where the food would come from.

After politely declining and wishing him a good day, his smile faded away. “Thank you for talking to me”, he said, his voice wavering and a tear forming in the corner of his eye.

And I knew that he isn’t the only one that has ever sat unnoticed, in a forgotten corner, with an unseen tear escaping.

“You yourself have recorded my wanderings. Put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”
‭‭Psalms‬ ‭56:8‬ ‭CSB‬‬