Jul 27, 2014


I see a man sitting in the same chair whenever I go to the bookstore.  He is usually slumped over gently snoring and his prosthetic arm lays stiffly across his torso while the other is cradling a book. He is unnoticed by patrons who pass by him as they busily roam the store in search of the newest popular novel or favorite magazine.  But I see him and I'm wondering what his story is. Why does he come here? I wonder.  How long has he been in this condition? Most of all, does anyone love him? I can almost bet he is homeless. A $20 bill will not solve his problem.  Oh, how I wish that it could! I watched him for a moment or two and then left. But I thought about him all the way home.   

Homeless Man by Grajauskas
When I arrived at home, I sat down and wrote him a short letter.  A love letter of sorts. Saying that I hoped someone loved him. After all, what is life without without being loved? I enclosed a small amount of money then sealed the envelope. I went back to the store hoping to find the man, but by the time I got there someone had told him to leave. A clerk told me that he is there frequently, which I already knew.  "What time of day is he usually here?" I asked. "It varies", replied the clerk. I will deliver the letter eventually.  In the meantime, I will think about his life and I'll pray for an escape.