The Cyclist

Last nite at the Main & Cordova soup line, I was helping serve juice to the homeless. At the end, I was feeling a bit discouraged because I didn’t have a meaningful conversation with anyone all evening. There was a young fellow standing there with his bicycle, looking a bit lost. He was noticeably thin and wiry wearing a well worn black track suit and tattered white jogging shoes. His hands were almost the colour of his jacket, the sure sign of an addict who hadn’t washed in months. Would you like some sandwiches I asked, sensing the Holy Spirit nudging me to reach out to him. I rustled around in the truck and found a plastic bag and filled it with sandwiches. He and his girlfriend just biked from Kamloops to detox and escape the drug life there. As he poured out his life to me, I felt compassion for the broken shadow of a man. Up to ten years ago, all his friends and family were Christians. There was a woman, then the drugs. “One day at a time Tony.” I laid out how I commit each day to Him, humbling myself and seeking to walk in His righteousness. As I prayed, the Holy Spirit’s presence was tangible. He wept bitterly.
Lord, could you save a lost soul like Tony? For this time and place, I was made. Thankyou Lord for giving me purpose tonight.

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