I Only Talk Because You Ask
I met a man today. Scott. Scott lives in a tent on a beach, unwillingly. His teeth are stained yellow and in need of drastic dental work, not from a lifestyle of unrestricted access to chocolate bars and candy.. But rather no doubt ruined from feeding off cigarette adrenalin and evenings of eating Chinese leftovers from the six dollars he openly received on the street for the day. He's a labourer. 'Any labour work! Anything and everything,' he protested. He observed the people walking past his cardboard sign and commented on how it's quietning down. A lady, possibly high or skizophrenic, walked past and pushed my friend in the back. We're not used to being misused in middle class. Nor are they used to us disposing ourselves to change our perspective and see through new eyes. 'Scott, have many Christians helped you before?' I asked. 'Sometimes...' he commented. He points to the church building nearly directly in front of us. '... But I've been sitting here on this street every Sunday morning and not one person has come over from that church to speak to me.' My friend and I left, and sore. Our people are living on the streets. Our people are forcibly, living on the streets. Our people are being abused. Our people are hurting, and broken. And yet the Church holds something dearly close that enables gives the ability to function in a healthy lifestyle with exuberant joy.. The Love of God. For the poor will never cease out of the land; therefore I command you, You shall open wide your hands to your brother, to your needy, and to your poor in your land. - Deuteronomy 15:11 AMP.