I flinch at an unkept man asleep on a bench, imaging what could weigh so heavily upon his back as he lies with his head on a sack.
Perhaps I’ve seen him ten times or more, though to stop could become such a consuming chore.
If I gave his tragedy a mere minute, I might be pulled deep within it.
I know not what dire things have landed him in such sorrowings.
Whether foolishness or mentally ill, my past imparts a definite chill.
Yet, I know what the one I call Lord would do, if He were one of us two.
He would kneel in the grass and gently treat this vagrant as more fragrant than expensive perfume encased in glass.
He would share his love with this downcast soul as gracefully as a dove lands on a seed strewn knoll.
He would feed this man so broken and bound, and let him know that he has been chosen and found.
For this is not his place to be, when the Truth could truly set him free from whatever darkness dwells inside, to come with Him and reside.
Yet, I stand here not alone, but with my Lord for whom I’m known.
To bear his likeness and his name, as I hasten past my own shame
is not to abide with the spirit inside,
but to walk apart from Him who came to heal my heart.
John Crosby ©
Beautifully written!