A couple of days ago, as I headed to pick up lunch, I got stuck behind a city bus. The bus stopped to pick up passengers and I just wanted the vehicle to move on so I could get my food and head back to work. The bus moved ahead a bit and stopped for a red light leaving me a clear view of the covered bus stop. On the sidewalk, in front of the bench, I saw a man sleeping. His knees were bent, just as mine are when I fall asleep. His head rested on his arm instead of a pillow. A plastic bag snuggled close to his stomach. He wore a blue ball cap with an insignia I couldn't read, light tan pants, a red shirt, and what appeared to be leather loafers. In his sleep, he didn't hear a thing. No passing traffic, no footsteps. He rested in the sun, his gray beard unkempt. I knew this man. I'd seen him walking along the busy four lane highway, staggering to the point that I worried one day he'd be struck by a car. As I watched, I prayed for him. I don't know his story, but I know once a mother gave birth and loved him. Someone held him as a baby, dressed and diapered him. Did he grow up and fall in love? Did he marry and have children of his own?
The sight of that man has stayed with me. I worry for him. He doesn't know this. He doesn't know a stranger cares, a stranger prays. But God knows, and God hears. With prayer, miracles occur. When was the last time you prayed for a stranger?
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