by Richard Ryan
(Editors' note: This article came to us off the email circuit. It bears many marks of authenticity, but as we cannot trace it back to its author, we cannot guarantee its pedigree.)
It was an unusually cold day for the month of May. Spring had arrived and everything was alive with color. But a cold front from the north had brought winter's chill back to Indiana.
I sat with two friends in the picture window of a quaint restaurant just off the corner of the town square. 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. We continued with our meal, but his image lingered in my mind. We finished our meal and went our separate ways.
I glanced toward the town square, looking somewhat half-heartedly for the strange visitor. I was fearful, knowing that seeing him again would call for some response. But I saw nothing of him as I drove through town.
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." And so, 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 felt compelled to speak to him, yet I wanted to drive on. The empty parking space on the corner seemed to be an invitation from God 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 only minutes earlier. His hair was long and straight, and he had a neatly-trimmed dark beard. His skin was deeply tanned, and his face was weathered slightly beyond his 38 years. His eyes were 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 but revival services, 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 fourteen 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.
"What's it like to walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and show your sign?" I asked.
"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 about other folks like me." My concept was changing too.
We finished our dessert and gathered his things. Just outside the door he paused. He 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 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 was also his personal favorite. "I've read through it fourteen 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 you headed from here? I asked.
"Well, I found this little map on the back of an amusement park coupon."
"Are you hoping to hire there for a while?"
"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 his mission.
It started raining as I drove him back to the town square where we'd met two hours earlier. We parked to unload 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, Jeremiah 29:11: "‘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.
"How long has it been since someone hugged you?" I asked. "A long time," he replied.
And so on the 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 New Jerusalem."
"I'll be there!" was my reply.
He headed away with his sign swinging from his bedroll and a 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.
Later that evening as I left my office, the wind blew cold and strong. 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.
I remembered his 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 it's people in a new way, and they help me to remember my unique friend and to pray for his ministry.
"See you in New Jerusalem," he'd said. Yes Daniel, I know I will.
Via Thought for the Day