I don’t often talk about faith matters here. It’s not like I could be canceled—my digital footprint is about the size of an ant—and a breadcrumb trail to the table is more winsome than standing in the road shouting that a banquet has been prepared. But it is Sunday and we have entered the season of Thanksgiving, and I saw a man who shook me and then I dreamed.
He was huddled under the bridge—so cold—and his eyes, like the man on the bus, were windows to something knowing and broken. I thought about turning around to give him our fleece car blanket. My next thought was that the client who gave it to us does work in this city and might actually see it on the side of the road.
Each morning after that, in the place between sleep and awake, I dreamed about hard events that are still too close in the rear-view mirror that they haunt.
This morning, words from the Psalms came to me: My soul, bless the Lord, and do not forget all his benefits. And then, from James, Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.
I am aware this morning that there is no road so far behind us that we should fail to remember the giver and his benefits. And more, maybe because of how I’m wired, and if I were standing in the road shouting, I would say that you and I are inimitable…matchless…given gifts and talents and therefore blessed to be a blessing. I didn’t give away that logo blanket, but I can give this.
