Look into the Future
Many of the homeless I see on the streets sleep under bridges, hang out in abandoned buildings, or camp in little clumps of woods. Where my friends live makes it hard for me to find them sometimes. When I was younger, I could venture into abandoned grain elevators and slippery caves to search for folks who had no permanent address. Now, my body is older and I can’t do it like I used to; but hopefully, I do it wiser. At least, I don’t go into dark and scary places anymore. And I always carry a monocular with me, so I can look into the future.
If you have a monocular with you at a baseball game, you can watch the play at first without having to wait to see the replay on the big screen. If you have a monocular with you when you go bird watching, you can be first on the spot with your pocket-sized scope. And, if you have a monocular with you when you are searching for the homeless, you can look into the future, but only about a hundred yards or so.
When I’m driving down West River Road looking for my homeless friends, I can stop, pull out my compact scope, and explore the woods on the opposite bank without having to hike a precarious slope. As I’m waiting out a red light at the corner, I can look to the crew hanging out blocks ahead, and grab a few lunches for a Stop and Drop before the light even turns green. If I’m out exploring the tracks south of the North Town Yard, I can investigate the cloud of dust approaching and duck out of sight before the bull gets to investigate me.
Today, I drove down under the span of bridges on the edge of town. I parked in the shade where I would be cool and somewhat concealed. I could see that there was a group of friends assembled in The Living Room about a hundred yards away. The Living Room is an out-of-sight, out-of-mind spot where the homeless gather to pass the time. It’s also a ‘first-come, first-served’ place where you don’t belong unless you have been invited.
I wasn’t invited to visit the folks in The Living Room today; I wasn’t on my regular route of scheduled stops. But there I sat, parked in the shade only a hundred yards away with a van full of food, and a heart full of feelings. So I pulled out my scope, and I took a look into the future.
I could see from a distance that my friends were busy, but it looked like no business of mine. I could see that my friends could see me, but no one got up to eat, or to come and say hello. I could see that the peace pipe was being passed among my friends, and I couldn’t see what kind of piece was in the pipe; I passed.
I quietly said a prayer for each of my homeless friends, and I slowly drove away.
Who was it that I scoped out today? I don’t remember. With my scope, I can look into the future, but I can not look into the past.
So, who will it be that I see tomorrow? I have no idea. With my scope, I can see into the future, but only about a hundred yards at a time.
Now is the time to say a prayer. A prayer is a look a whole lot farther into the future than can ever been seen with a scope.
If you have a monocular with you at a baseball game, you can watch the play at first without having to wait to see the replay on the big screen. If you have a monocular with you when you go bird watching, you can be first on the spot with your pocket-sized scope. And, if you have a monocular with you when you are searching for the homeless, you can look into the future, but only about a hundred yards or so.
When I’m driving down West River Road looking for my homeless friends, I can stop, pull out my compact scope, and explore the woods on the opposite bank without having to hike a precarious slope. As I’m waiting out a red light at the corner, I can look to the crew hanging out blocks ahead, and grab a few lunches for a Stop and Drop before the light even turns green. If I’m out exploring the tracks south of the North Town Yard, I can investigate the cloud of dust approaching and duck out of sight before the bull gets to investigate me.
Today, I drove down under the span of bridges on the edge of town. I parked in the shade where I would be cool and somewhat concealed. I could see that there was a group of friends assembled in The Living Room about a hundred yards away. The Living Room is an out-of-sight, out-of-mind spot where the homeless gather to pass the time. It’s also a ‘first-come, first-served’ place where you don’t belong unless you have been invited.
I wasn’t invited to visit the folks in The Living Room today; I wasn’t on my regular route of scheduled stops. But there I sat, parked in the shade only a hundred yards away with a van full of food, and a heart full of feelings. So I pulled out my scope, and I took a look into the future.
I could see from a distance that my friends were busy, but it looked like no business of mine. I could see that my friends could see me, but no one got up to eat, or to come and say hello. I could see that the peace pipe was being passed among my friends, and I couldn’t see what kind of piece was in the pipe; I passed.
I quietly said a prayer for each of my homeless friends, and I slowly drove away.
Who was it that I scoped out today? I don’t remember. With my scope, I can look into the future, but I can not look into the past.
So, who will it be that I see tomorrow? I have no idea. With my scope, I can see into the future, but only about a hundred yards at a time.
Now is the time to say a prayer. A prayer is a look a whole lot farther into the future than can ever been seen with a scope.
posted by Kelly at 9:00 PM
2 Comments:
Excellent.
Truly excellent.
I believe that God has put a mission in your heart and you are wise not to push or force what you want for them.
They will respond to your goodness as they need it. Think of Mother Theresa and continue to do your good work.
At times, you will be frustrated, on occasion perhaps even angry. There will be times when you are happy and, God forbid, perhaps even times when you are proud.
Please, my good Samaritan, always remember that it is God's work and you are just a simple tool.
Thank you, friend.
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