|Irish sheep-Ring of Kerry|
|Wall to wall people in London|
Mom, an extrovert on steroids, responded, “What do you need money for?”
“Ma’am, I’d like to get something sweet.”
Mom asked, “Are you hungry?”
Stunned by a question the stranger has likely never been asked, he paused and then answered. “Why, yes, I am.”
Blasting the bewildered man with questions about what he’d like to order, mom took charge of the situation while the rest of us remained silent watching this interchange. He settled on the pizza and a coke. Smart to skip the mashed peas, like us. Mom then asked the man if he’d rather eat his food in the restaurant or take it to go.
“I’ll take it with me, ma’am.”
“Well, why don’t you come in and sit in one of the booths, and we’ll talk to the waitress about your food.”
The homeless man plodded into the restaurant and plopped down into one of the booths. He wore weariness. No sigh escaped his lips, but I could sense it. Tired, hungry and all he asked for was a few pence for something sweet, as if that would satisfy the hunger pains. His head hung low as if some invisible weight were holding it down. Awkward silence reigned at our table. It seemed sacrilegious to continue casual conversation. A man hungered while we feasted—while I spurned mashed peas. My eyes blurred as I blinked back tears threatening as I watched this worn out creature. And yet, here we sat, part of a divine interaction, our resources covering this man’s need.
After the waitress brought his to-go food, the man slowly rose and plodded back to the window cutout. “I don’t mean to bother you again, but thank you.”
Mom said, “God bless you.” The man replied the same and disappeared into the mall to fill his stomach.