The crystal blue of his eyes pierced me, and I saw him.  I saw the man who is homeless beneath the gnarly mass of unshaven beard, the man underneath the tangle of unshorn hair left to grow without resolution.  I saw the man robed in tattered cotton, stained from the harsh elements of life on the street, or in the woods, everywhere or anywhere he exists without the temporary permanence of a place called “home”.  I saw him. Once your eyes are open, you can no longer look away.

My morning routine is very predictable and quite mundane, the comfort of familiarity as I make my way to work.  I listen to the same radio station every morning, and I relish this devotional time.  The speaker was talking about doing good things in this world, reaching out to help one another. When our hearts are filled with gratitude it produces service to the other, revealing itself in goodness. The unmistakable still, small voice, an inner knowing, was prompting me to turn the car around and give the homeless guy my muffin and coffee. “Surely Lord, you don’t want me to drive back there and give him my breakfast? I’ll waste ten minutes, I have to get to work”.  The faint echo kept resonating. I have known hunger, and emptiness, how can I not obey God in this. “The least of these”… there was no turning back now, although it became necessary to turn the car around and drive back to the place where I saw him. Maybe he was at the end of his rope today and I have the opportunity to be a light in his world. Or just maybe, he will escape all that drama, but just needs to know that there’s hope, hope in God, hope for another day.  I quickly scribbled on a paper napkin “You are beloved, hang on” and tucked it inside the brown paper bag.  I was overwhelmed with the sense of Presence and hurried to find this man. As my car approached him, I was filled with a quiet confidence. Rolling down my passenger side window I offered him my commuter’s breakfast.  “Hey man, are you hungry? Here’s a hot cup of coffee and a muffin. God bless you.” That’s when he raised his head and his bluer than blue eyes met mine. I saw him. I reached out and touched his leathered hand and gave him my breakfast.  He looked right through me and simply said, “thank you and God bless you”. As I drove away I know that I saw so much more than a disheveled guy who is homeless, with an old rusted bicycle, his life’s possessions now secured in a black plastic garbage bag tied to the crooked handle bars.  His Hilton on wheels – that bike.  His hearth – a small campfire out of sight of humankind.  His bed – the dewy grass behind the thicket of obscuring bushes.  I saw him through the obviousness of it all.  I saw this man with the blue eyes that met mine, and pierced me to my core, humbling me.

I’ll never forget the sheepish look on his face as I pulled over and rolled down my window.  The presence of God was so close, and those blue eyes gratefully said thank you. I will never forget his eyes.  I saw more than some homeless guy this morning.  I saw the Lord, through the piercing blue eyes, staring back at me.  I saw Him.