It was Sunday morning and the church crowd was going and coming. He sat just outside the entrance way fo the sandwich shop with an open Bible midst his crossed legs. His clothing was in sharp contrast to the church crowd who had to notice him as they passed by. The backpack pushed tightly against his leg appeared to be his only possession. A coffee cup beside him said he had either made a purchase from inside or received a gift from someone who saw him.
I am ashamed to admit it, but when I saw him all my internal voices of skepticism started wildly firing. One said, "His timing for reading his Bible in public could not be better." Another joined in, "What a great place to just sit. He doesn't even need a sign." "He sure knows when and how to play the guilt card," was one of the last voices I heard before I heard a softer and kinder voice beside me saying, ""Let's buy him a sandwich." All my inner voices ceased speaking. There was no more to say.
We bought him a sandwich. "Friend," I said as I handed him our sandwich, "we wanted to share this with you." He took it, thanked me, pushed it in his backpack and said, "I don't need it, but I have a friend who does." I have a feeling God regarded his gift to his friend as a gift of greater value than mine. Mine to him was wrapped thinly in love compared to the lavish abandonment wrapped around the gift he gave. "Each of you must give as you have made up your mind, not reluctantly or under compulsion, for God loves a cheerful giver." (II Corinthians 9:7)
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