Almost Missed It

I Almost missed it. I was too worried about myself to even be aware of him. Too busy being about my own business. 

I hardly noticed him sitting across from me, elderly, past retirement age, Bible open in his lap, head bowed in thought and prayer. 

I was looking at my phone pouring over a Google search. His Bible was worn and used marked and highlighted. It fit snugly into a Bible cover. He would turn the pages with a gentleness and ease that I watched intently. I am a page flipper, no grace, no careful touch, just a ferocity and clumsiness that tends to be my nature. My Bible reflects such a nature.

This man though took such care with his most treasured possession, a pang of conviction came over me. He wore no expression of shame and he did not dare attempt to hide his Word. I noted as he read he was towards the back. I assumed a letter from Paul and I fought the urge to ask him what he was reading, what nuggets of truth he was finding in those soft pages. Moments before, I was too worried about myself to even be aware of him and as I sat now enamored and intrigued, I realized for the second day in a row, I’d almost missed something, someone rather, because I was consumed with myself and my own circumstances.

The day before I was frustrated, my day began with a broken pipe that led to a broken ceiling and a broken wall. I am no contractor but I knew it meant trouble. Expensive trouble. As I exited the interstate I was grumbling about the cost of such things and how I was heading into work after crying all morning and I didn’t really want to go but no I had no choice and if God could’ve just not let this happen that would’ve been great and also could that car in front of me just GO!!! 

I was angry and I was so consumed with myself that I almost missed it.

A person sitting on the ground, head down, knees pulled in, arms around them one frail hand raised, but just barely, holding one of those foam trays, meat comes on and written in neat all caps black letters, the word “Hungry.” The sign one of desperation, the posture, one of shame. 

As I sat across from the unashamed Bible reader I realized that I had almost missed them both, the ashamed destitute least of these, and the unashamed Bible reader because I was looking down instead of up.

I had been so focused on me and my stuff that I failed to look around and see the world around me. 

Another pang of conviction and I began to pray. A prayer of repentance and petitioning, I asked for eyes to see others as the King does and to see  less of me and my circumstances.

I looked up after my silent amen just as The Bible reader began to doze.

I’ve done it myself many times, my intention to spend time with my Lord but fatigue takes over and my head once bowed in Prayer now is bowed in slumber. I used to feel bad about that, used to be upset that like the King’s friends, couldn’t I just stay awake and pray, until one day a friend of mine told me she felt sure that the Father would much rather me climb up in His lap and fall asleep than to have never met with him at all. 

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