A Plate Of Spaghetti

I serve food under a bridge to a bunch of homeless people.

Might not be your idea of a perfect Sunday, but it's mine.

Unfortunately, one of my homeless friends, Robert, passed away this week. He was beaten with a rock just feet away from where we serve food. He hung in there for a few days, but it was just too much for him to come back from. There was a memorial service for him today under the bridge... a beautiful prayer and an amazing rendition of 'Amazing Grace'.

I don't know who did it. I don't know why it happened or any of the circumstances surrounding that night. But I'm not dumb. I know that it is highly likely that, on Sunday, I will hand a plate of food to the person who is responsible for Robert's death. I have most likely handed many plates to whomever did this over the past two and a half years. I will most likely continue to smile, call them 'honey' or 'darlin', and ask them if they would like some spaghetti.

Why?

Because God told me to serve His children. He didn't tell me to serve all of them except for this one or that one. He didn't tell me to serve them only if they've never committed a crime. He didn't tell me to ask them for their rap sheet before I hand them a plate of food. He told me to serve His children, and He told me to serve them in the place & capacity that I do. I trust Him to take care of the rest.