His Name is Steven
His backpack … he carried it on one shoulder, along with, likely, everything he owned. He waited in line for a few supplies and for us to serve him a plate of food.
His hair … it was long and dirty. Probably, it hadn’t been washed in 3 months--maybe those were dreads or maybe they were mats or maybe they were matted dreads. It was hard to tell.
His hands … they were dirtier than any words can describe. This was not the first time I’d seen him; actually, the last time I saw him was probably 3 years ago. Hard to image being homeless and living outside for that long, especially in Missouri.
His eyes … they were gentle and kind. I gave him a cup of lemonade. He smiled.
His glasses … they were coated with a thick layer of, maybe, filthy fingerprints upon more layers of the same.
I asked, “Would you mind if I cleaned your glasses?” He let me remove them from his face (I was that close to him). I found a paper towel and worked to get the lenses as clear as I could with no cleaning solution.
It was dark outside, maybe 9:30 pm, somewhere deep in Kansas City on the East side.
I took the glasses back to him … he was still waiting in the food line.
I asked him if I could place the glasses back on his face (we were that close). He nodded, so I slipped them up and over his ears.
He looked back at me with a gentle smile, and I felt an appreciation that I will not soon forget.
“Take care, Steven. Maybe we’ll see ya next time.”
[my comments follow] Oh, my what a beautiful story. Oh, that we could all find ways to touch another human being. Everyone around us needs something. Find a way to be there for someone.
It's a beautiful day in God's world, be sure to do the good.
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