Today my normal Friday morning pre-work routine of serving breakfast at Wayside Christian Mission and praying at 40 Days For Life had a few anomalies that made it stand out from a normal Friday.

The first was a reunion with Freeda (who I posted about back in April). I had only seen her once but she was a stand out ray of Jesus sunshine. She made an impression on me and my son — he frequently asked if we would see her last summer when he would join me. Unfortunately, we went the rest of 2011 without seeing her. However, I assisted a very sweet lady with donuts and a napkin. She warmed my heart and, while I did not immediately recognize her, my heart went to her. So when she came back for something I introduced myself to her and asked her name. When she said “Freeda” my eyes widened and I reacquainted her with me. She remembered that day long ago and she gave me a quick summary of what had been going on. We gathered together at the end of the food line and said a quick prayer with one another. She is such a blessed, Spirit-led sister in Christ whose prayer was heartfelt and Scriptural. It made my day to see her and, as I said in my previous post, it wasn’t 8am yet.

The next event was quite humorous. I was at the head of the line serving up ‘taters and handing the plate down range to my mentor friend who has been joining me at Wayside for the last several months. I was handing him a plate while trying to efficiently manage a new plate — which happens to be this big monstrosity plate like they hold up at Wimbledon. It is unwieldy and not terribly practical for food kitchen use because its large size dwarfs even the large portions of food that are put on it — which is a rare thing seeing as how we try to stretch all the meals in an effort to feed everyone that comes through. So, like some of the professional NFL running backs, I fumbled said plate. It only dropped a foot and a half but once it hit that linoleum tile floor it not only busted into pieces, but made the loudest breaking/clanging/smashing sound that filled the dining hall. I held up my hand in embarrassed acknowledgement and received an applause from the heckling homeless. However, I did receive appreciation from others on the food line knowing that the plate was out of place in its use there, and they were glad it was not headed out in a Hefty bag.

The last observation was while praying at 40 Days For Life. There was an older Nissan Maxima that was squealing loudly but not moving parked right in front of the abortion clinic. A tow truck was called and after some lengthy maneuvering with traffic and such, hooked up to the broken vehicle and proceeded to take it away. I commented to my friend Donna (a true saint and disciple of Jesus) that it was a metaphor for that place that kills babies and leaves mothers and fathers broken and carts them away. She agreed and it reminded me of another similar observation on that same sidewalk (see post here).

…..Dan at aslowerpace dot net

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