On a cold, wet Saturday morning a group of our friends met at Confederate Park to feed the homeless.
This was my first ever service project and I really didn’t know what to expect.
We woke up around 3:30 in the morning, and went to the church kitchen to help prepare sandwiches and coffee. From there, we drove downtown to set up. When we arrived, Scott darted off to Main Street to buy last minute supplies. For a moment, I stood around unsure of how to help. As I watched my friends set up the table, I truly wondered if my being there would really benefit anyone.
In spite of the weather, it was only seconds before many people gathered in line for food. I greeted our homeless brothers and sisters as they assembled, but it was when Donald came upon the table that I really felt God’s presence.
His soft spirit is what touched me first. Where we had set-up, the table was on the grass underneath a large tree. Donald’s maroon, motorized wheel-chair buzzed up to where the grass met the sidewalk—the point where he could go no further. He sat quietly observing the others in line for food.
“Can I get you something to eat?” I asked.
He nodded, seemingly unsure, and soon I returned with several sandwiches and water. As he ate, I stood ready to fetch anything else he might need.
God truly blessed me that morning. I have heard that when people serve or go on mission trips that they benefit more than the people they serve. I didn’t quite understand until forty-five minutes later when I found myself still beside Donald.
We talked about his life; he had a stroke in 1999. We talked of his family; his brother Herschel was also there at the park. Lastly, we talked about God.
“You have friends, right?” he asked me.
“Yeah.”
“Well, you may have some great friends,” he nodded, “but God is the only friend who will never leave you.”
He made many significant points that morning, but it wasn’t long before I saw God’s primary purpose in bringing Donald and me together. It wasn’t for him, but for me.
In the group, there is one individual at this moment that has hurt my feelings, leaving me feeling embittered. When I noticed that person at the table, my feelings of virulence smothered my happy spirit. Anger and resentment filled my heart. However, I remained stoic—my change in heart unreadable to anyone else. Hands clenched in my pockets, I turned my focus back to Donald.
It was what he said next that shocked me:
“Prayer is everything. When you’re mad at someone, pray to God. When Satan rises in you, pray. Don’t ever forget to pray.”
As I fought with my own selfish feelings, he repeated himself five more times. God could obviously see I wasn’t getting the message He was personally delivering. I struggled within myself and finally—for the time being—let my anger dissipate.
I cherished the remaining time we had together, listening intently to his messages. It wasn’t much later that Herschel approached to collect his brother. I told Donald how much I appreciated him and that he was truly my gift from God that day.
“Donald, I’ll pray for you,” I smiled. “And pray for me, too, okay?” I patted his shoulder.
His genuine smile reached each corner of his cheeks, and as he turned away, moving farther down the street, I felt both a widening sadness and an immense gladness. I may never see him again, but his words were an unforgettable gift—he was my gift.
On rainy days, I think of him now and remember the immensity of our God-divined talk, saying a prayer that God will continue to keep him safe. I went downtown that morning questioning my ability to help, and never expecting instead someone to help me. God is so wonderful and his gifts are a blessing in more ways than one.
Dear Lord, thank you so much for your gift that morning. I hope Donald was helped as much as I was that day—and I thank you infinitely for letting me feel your powerful love. Thank you for your message. Thank you for Donald. Please keep him safe and warm, and let him continue to feel your love. You are a mighty God, and I love you.
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