In the morning before work, I head to the base of one of the towers in Seattle, head to my corner, grab one of the four comfy orange chairs, and sit down. Most mornings I try to get some Bible reading in, although I will admit sometimes I just sit there and doze or stare into space.
When you go the same place every weekday morning, you tend to start recognizing other people who come around a lot. In particular, there’s one homeless man I end up seeing most mornings who comes in and sits in the chair next to me. He’s usually wearing several layers of clothing (because the weather has still been cold here) and laden with a bag or two with his possessions in them.
Yesterday morning I saw him walking towards his chair and holding a box labeled “Mostly Muffins.” I assumed it contained muffins. On closer notice, I realized it contained scones. Cinnamon scones.
I looked at his scruffy face as he asked the question, “Do you want these scones?”
“Oh, no, that’s okay, I already had some breakfast.”
“No, go ahead, you can have them,” he encouraged.
“Okay, sure, I’ll try one of them,” I acquiesced.
“Here, have a granola bar, too. You can save it for later.”
I took the granola bar and put it in my messenger bag for later. I picked up the box of scones, tore a hole in the plastic covering, removed a scone, and proceeded to eat it. Twenty minutes later, I took the other scones with me as I left for work.
Not being able to eat six scones by myself, I shared them with my coworkers. They praised the scones and stated how delicious they were. I felt glad to share the scones with them. I never told them they came from a homeless man.
Events like this offer a strange view of the world. Typically, homeless people are considered the dregs of the society with nothing to offer. This man, who had received an excess of food, freely shared it with me.
I’m thankful.