People touch me.
They always have.
When my daughters were teenagers, there was a hit country song entitled, "Sentimental Old You."
They would give me a hard time whenever it played.
They knew people got to me.
So, I'm a sap.
So, what you gonna do about it, huh? Wanna make something of it?
All this to say, I cried at a stoplight earlier this week.
I'm sitting at the intersection of the I-30 service road and Carroll Avenue here in East Dallas.
I'm minding my own business, I tell you. I'm on my way to a meeting in Oak Cliff.
I just want on the freeway. I'm not looking for anything or anyone, honest.
There at the stop light is a homeless man.
This is his corner to "work" today.
But, when I pull up, the guy is on his lunch break.
He's eating macaroni and cheese out of a paper cup.
He also has a dog.
The dog is watching this guy's every move.
The dog wants a bite. . .bad.
The guy is talking to the dog.
I promise, I could see it coming.
Finally, the guy stoops down, spreads out a napkin on the ground, as if he were setting a formal dinner table, and spoons out a scoop of his lunch for his dog.
This guy is beyond, way beyond broke.
He is hungry, very hungry.
But, he shares. . .with his dog, no doubt his best friend.
I watched it all.
In that moment our souls hooked up, the light changed and I drove on. . . wiping away a tear.
We are all really basically the same.
We really are.
March 2, 2014–Transfiguration Sunday
6 days ago