His name is Joseph. I first saw him walking through our quaint downtown square with a bundle of blankets tucked under his arm . He was obviously malnourished. His hair and beard  were unkempt and his skin bore the marks of weathering both the physical and spiritual storms of life. In my mind’s eye I immediately saw him as someone’s son, someone’s brother, perhaps, someone’s husband or father. My heart hurt for him. It was a short and simple prayer that I prayed that day, “Lord, show me how I could help someone like that.” The light turned green and I drove on.

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