Paper Bags and Homeless Angels

My driving misadventures are legendary, in my mind anyway. Today’s excursion adds another cautionary tale. I say I can’t find my way out of a paper bag. I’m not sure that’s a real old saying, but it is for me.

We went to downtown Atlanta to meet our son, Tarik, his wife, and youngest son who is totally adorable I might add! We made it through Atlanta traffic where every driver self-identifies as a Mario Andretti or Dale Earnhardt. Ronald only had to endure my nervous gasps and arm grabs a few times. He parked the car about a minute’s walk from the restaurant and sent me on ahead while he waited there for Melissa and her little ones to join us.

I guess I need some land navigation lessons from our great nephew. Or a brain transplant.

We had passed the restaurant on our way in, and I knew we weren’t far.

However.

Have you ever read the poem about there being two roads diverging in a yellow wood? Well, there were two paths from the parking lot, and wouldn’t you know it! I took the one I shouldn’t have ‘traveled by’!

Ronald saw me exit the wrong way, but he figured I would just go around the corner and get going the right way. Wrong.

As I walked, I was surprised by the numbers of homeless everywhere. Atlanta has really gone downhill in that regard. But I wasn’t scared. It was a beautiful day. I called Tarik to tell him I was on my way. It turned out to be a very circuitous route. Within two long blocks, I was sure I was headed the wrong direction. I asked four different people where the restaurant was, they didn’t have any more of a clue than I did. I got on speaker phone with Tarik. He went outside the place and looked, but no sight of me.

A homeless man heard the conversation, rose from his seat, motioned to me, smiled his toothless grin, and assured me he knew where the place was. I felt no fear and was thankful for the help. We chatted along the way about how big our sons were, how much they used to eat when they were teens, and about God. When I paused at a crosswalk, he graciously extended his hand to help me down the step.

Near the restaurant, I bemoaned the fact I had no cash money to give him for helping me. He said he was pretty hungry so I said when we got there, I would get him something. At the door, he was hesitant to enter and asked if it was okay to come in. I said sure! I explained to the host that I had been lost and this gentleman had guided me safely to the place. I ordered, Tarik came up, the man greeted Tarik with a fist bump, then sat quietly on the bench just inside the door. The man got the takeout meal, and he left.

He’ll never know how thankful I was for his help. He’ll never know. Unless he was one of my guardian angels in disguise.

Our great nephew told me a sweet story later about his son, Carter. When he was around 8, he and the family had gone to the Federal Bank Museum where Carter was given a little bag of shredded money. Once outside, he saw a homeless man and promptly gave him the bag. The little guy sincerely thought the money was real and valuable. What a lesson for us all!

As I ponder today’s events, I wonder.

1 John 3:17, 18 LBT ‘But if someone who is supposed to be a Christian has money enough to live well, and sees a brother in need, and won’t help him-how can God’s love be within him? Little children, let us stop just saying we love people; let us really love them and show it by our actions.’

Blessings

KB