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. The food and the company were both especially good that
day. 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 some response. I
drove through town and saw nothing of him. I made some purchases at as
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." 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 stopped and looked, feeling both compelled to speak
to him, yet wanting to drive on. The 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?" I asked. He replies, "Oh, I ate something early this
morning." I ask, "Would you like to have lunch with me?" "Do you have
some work I could do for you?" he asks.
"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," he replies. "Where you
from?" I ask. "Oh, all over; mostly Florida," he answers. "How long
you been walking?" I ask curiously. "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 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 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?" he responded.
"To walk into a town carrying all your things on your back and to show
your sign?" I continued. "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. 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 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 you headed from here?" I asked. "Well, I
found this little map on the back of this amusement park coupon." he
answered. "Are you hoping to hire on there for awhile?" I asked. "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, and 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." "Thank you," 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." he replied. "Yes, He is.
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 the New Jerusalem." "I'll be there!" was my
reply. He began his journey again. He headed away with his sign
dangling from his bed roll 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." "God bless." And
that was the last I saw of him. Late that evening as I left my office,
the wind blew 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. 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 its people in a new way, and they
help me remember those two hours with my unique friend and to pray for
his ministry. "See you in the New Jerusalem," he said. Yes, Daniel,
