A serendipity came this morning as I drove down Bradley Road. Very unexpected, as I have been struggling through a severe spiritual crisis, another pilgrim's regress. (Sometimes I wonder, doesn't a person's spiritual journey ever reach a peaceful oasis?)
It's Saturday/sixth day (what I call Spirit day). I dropped off my son at his school to take his SAT class and headed home, ruminating on Life problems. But then I saw the older man, the one who stands by the corner hitchhiking most days. Normally, I don't stop as the traffic is heavy and there is no side lane, but today no cars were crowding me, so I listened to an inner feeling and stopped for the man. He was in old wrinkled clothes, almost looked homeless, and hunched as if someone had curled his spine; his one knarled hand held a small trash bag, evidently his lunch.
When he thanked me I could hardly understand him as he spoke with a Spanish accent and had a voice impediment. He sat there bent forward, his face weathered, like dark brown parchment. Some of the time I couldn't understand him, but found out he had 13 grandkids and his wife had died from cancer 18 months ago and that he worked at a carwash and was 82 years old!
I'm not even a Samaritan, more like a prodigal son, but our Father met us on the road there this morning, even though we spoke no religious language. The hitchhiker and I were in a precious moment, a present meeting.
In the Light,