Morningbrain, one more time.

Morningbrain, one more time.

God works in mysterious ways, or so it is said, and this morning he has given me thoughts from the day before to keep me from my sleep.  This isn’t the first time this has happened.  What to do?  Write, of course.

Yesterday, I had just finished collecting the various items we thought we needed that were defined on the 3x5 pad on the refrigerator.  I had been in Walmart and was in its parking lot, proceeding to unload my shopping cart into the trunk of my trusted steed, our Mitsubishi, when a man walked up and asked if I had a few dollars I could spare that he could use to buy something to eat.  This has happened before, and I said “sure.” 

Pulling my wallet from my back pocket, opening it to help him with his request, I told him if he had the nerve to ask, I certainly would not say no.  What’s the point?  Well, the credit cards were all there, but there was not a single one, two, five, ten, or twenty there, only that folded up hundred that I may or may not even have noticed at the time.  Sorry, I said, nothing but cards.  The guy wandered off.  I watched him as I finished up my business and sat down before the steering wheel.  Then I remembered the change that was always in the pocket of one of the doors.  Yep, enough there, I thought.  I started the car.  I could still see the man.

What happened next?  Well, perhaps this is where God took over.  The cars in the parking lot did not seem to want to cooperate with my need to drive to where I had last seen the man.  While I waited for a couple of them to move, I saw him walking towards Whiskey Road.  Still time, I thought.  The cars had other ideas.  He walked through some bushes at the edge of the lot.  I drove to the stop light near where he had gone.  Another car, turning right, was in front of me.  Not much traffic, but the car just sat there.  It did turn, after another minute, and I followed.  No man.  No man anywhere.  I put the change back in the door pocket and proceeded to drive home.  He would not get his couple of bucks, and I would have to be satisfied with knowing I had tried.

I’ve often thought I never would have to worry about having to worry about how to get a camel through the eye of a needle.  While my wife and I aren’t exactly rich, neither of us has missed a meal, or gone to bed hungry, (or wondered if we going to find a place to sleep that night, for that matter,) in a long, long time.  Maybe I do need to think about how I might get that camel through the eye of that needle.  “Rich,” like everything else, is relative.  So now I am up at 4:30, typing, instead of sleeping.

Thank you Lord.

Hope your man got some supper.