It's not every day that you see a skinhead with swastikas tattooed on his hands and neck walk up to a black lady and give her a hug, thanking her for feeding him because he's homeless. But last Sunday was that day.
It's not every day that one of the top funeral homes of the region buries a former homeless street musician, donating everything from the casket to the suit to the plot, choosing to bury him among some of the greatest musical performers in country music. But the Saturday after Thanksgiving was that day.
It's not every day that people walking out of an Exxon station give horrified looks to a woman dressed up for a business meeting because she's choosing to hug her friend, who just happens to be homeless. But today was that day.
It's not every day that people gather under a bridge with pots and pans full of warm, home-cooked food, bags full of clothing and blankets, and smiles on their faces and in their hearts to serve what could be them if the situation was even the slightest bit different.
It's not every day that we love our fellow man, despite short-comings, faults, addictions and unfortunate circumstances. But it should be.
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