Today, I heard on the news that a man I’ve known of for fifteen years — but never knew — is dead. If you’re from my area, you also may know of this man. He only had one leg and was known for riding his tricycle around town. I’ve been driving by him on hwy. 91 ever since I received my driver’s license. Of course there were the rumours about why he was without a leg and why you could consistently see him sitting in the 1984 Chevrolet parked in front of his house; this morning, however, it dawned on me that I don’t know of anyone, starting with myself, that ever took the time in the name of Jesus to find out his real story or share with him a loaf of bread. Furthermore, I don’t know of anyone, starting with myself, that ever took the time in the name of Jesus to give him a ride to his destination. Perhaps “someone” could have prevented him being hit by a van 5 years ago, or being killed by a car yesterday. I guess we all had some place to get to.

Update (3/2008):  I have heard first-hand accounts of some who stopped to give the man a ride  and offer him a drink and a morsel.