He was young, 20ish, tanned, muscular, in a white tank top, sandals, and sitting with a forlorn posture looking out over the lake, chin in hands, elbows on knees. I thought about him as I passed by on my walk. Was he praying? Was he crying? Is he broke? Is his mom sick? Did his girl dump him? Something big was obviously on his mind, because as I returned to my car 45 min later, it appeared he had not moved a skosh. By his posture, I don't think he was out there singing praises. For the half mile he was in my line of vision on the way back, I contemplated walking the 30 yards across the grass to tell him.....what? What would I say? Ask if he's ok? If he needs anything? Just tell him I prayed for him for 2 1/2 miles? Would he be offended? Angry? Lash out? So rather than having bold "Jesus feet" I just kept walking. But I did pray for him (lame, I know - ultimate passive/aggressive). I hope he's ok. I regret not saying anything to him. You just never know when you're going to touch a heart, help a lost soul -- but the
skeptic, untrusting side of me said :::stay back:::
I believe now I was wrong to keep walking. Maybe he'll be there tomorrow. This is going to haunt me all night. I know there were times when my kids could have used a friendly stranger.
Tea tonight: Stash Green & White Fusion
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