The Long Line

Went to Church Under the Bridge on Sunday. As I stood there looking out at the long line of homeless friends waiting for their coffee, my eyes brimmed with tears. Each one was a line in a page of a history book-each line of their face etched by years of miseries, or happiness, sorrows or joys. Each had a life they had lived and they looked worn out by it. Tired-exhausted. I wanted to scoop each one up and just be able to grant them rest. Get them out of the long line of life and start them on another path, but I couldn't. So I just talked with them, prayed with some, tried not to cry, tried to hear their stories, however garbled and nonsensical some were. That was all I could do-give them a brief lifeline of friendship.