proof of charity

The old man slowly made his way along the side of a busy freeway steadying each step using a home made walking stick whittled from the remains of a cedar Christmas tree that had fallen from the top of a refuse truck. The old man stopped occasionally to stoop and pick up some shiny item or bit of trash along the way and slip it into a pocket of the small pack he carried on his back along with his bed roll and an umbrella that had been salvaged somewhere along the way from a trash bin.

Times were hard and under almost every overpass or abandoned building with an overhang big enough to provide some shelter there were houseless people living in worn out tents or under tattered tarps. All around these camp sites were piles of potentially useful things mixed in among piles of garbage and scrap. The man approached many of these promises of shelter or companionship but each time he was waved on and informed there was no room for him there. Which he also knew meant that there was no excess food or extra water, those who had already set up camp in those locations were hoarding what little they had to live on.

Night was falling but the weary traveler trudged on, finally turning onto a more lonely and isolated road with less traffic to worry about. He traveled a couple of more hard miles down this almost deserted road, it was completely dark now. Then, a slight sense of wood smoke gave some encouragement and so he pushed on. Around a bend the man could see the light of a flickering fire showing dimly beneath a bridge over a small creek.

Reaching the edge of the bridge the man stopped and called out, "would it be alright if this weary traveler came down and shared your fire?" "Are you alone?" came the reply. Yes, he said, I am one tired old man as I have come far today. I travel in peace and I carry no weapons, he added. 'Come" said the voice.

Under the bridge Charles Morten stirred hot coals in the fire with the point of a straight green limb that he had trimmed from a nearby tree. The driftwood and dried branches he had gathered before the sun went down burned bright and hot and it felt good as the cool of the evening and the dampness of the creek began to add a little chill to the air. The visitor warmed his hands by the fire a moment and then introduced himself. I'm Mike he said, Mike Livingston and I'm a traveling man gathering the stories and tales of the restless, the lost, and the lonely. Might I share your fire, shelter, and company tonight, and if you are willing I would love to listen to the story of your life and gather whatever wisdom from your experiences that you care to share. But just know, that I am a poor traveler he said, and I have little of value to share in return, it is a gift of charity that I ask of you and I will understand if you had rather I keep moving along. Charles is my name, replied the man, you might as well join me if you like, I also travel alone and the sound of a voice, even my own, is a pleasant change from the sounds of the night.

Charles went to the creek and retrieved a fish trap that he had fashioned from vines he had found growing along the sides of the road and then began to prepare the four little fishes inside for their evening meal. To add to the meal Mike dug into his pack and brought out a can of Pork n Beans, and a handful of blackberries carefully wrapped inside of a small paper napkin.

After eating, the men sat by the fire and talked long into the night. Charles, who usually kept everything to himself, found Mike indeed a good listener and he uncharacteristically talked and talked, eventually telling this easy going, non judgmental, stranger, things about his life that he had never shared with anyone. He told him about the war, about the friends that he had lost, and about how close he himself had come to death many times. He told Mike about coming home and the internal guilt that he felt about being safe and in a home filled with love when so many others had returned in boxes, violence and death being their reward. He spoke of the doubts, the anger, the fear, and the rage that welled up inside of him making him a danger to his family and to others. He also explained his leaving home without a word, that was four years ago now, I only wanted to protect them he explained.

This last year has been different said Charles, I saw a man struggling to unload some boxes behind a large church and stopped to help him. When we got those heavy boxes of bibles, study materials, and office supplies unloaded he invited me in for coffee and some donuts. Afterward we talked some, he encouraged me to call my family and let them know that I was okay. Then he asked if it would be all right if we had prayer together. Something changed during that prayer said Charles, I had not prayed since about mid way though my tour overseas. I had seen so much death and destruction that I became angry with God and just stopped talking to Him. But something happened when that preacher began to pray and I found myself not just following along with his prayer, but I was speaking to God myself, not out loud, but on the inside.

The Preacher gave me a bible as I was leaving and I have been reading a little each day. The pain and the anger are gone now and I'm okay with myself again, I finally have peace about surviving what so many others did not. I even stopped having those awful dreams and waking up soaked with sweat, he said. I do still have fear he said, but it's different now. I have been living like this all these years after abandoning my family. I'm pretty sure that they either hate me by this time, or they think that I died and by now they have moved on with their lives. I'm afraid to go home, I'm afraid to find out that the people I love the most now hate me, and I'm afraid of what everyone will think of me.

The two men talked on into the early hours of morning and at some point they drifted to their bedrolls and slept. When Charles awoke he was alone. Near his head was an unopened can of Pork n Beans and a large napkin full of blackberries. There was no sign of Mike, there was not even any footprints around the fire or the creek bank to indicate that anyone else had ever been there. He found the fish trap in the creek just like he had left it the day before and it was full of fresh fish. Taking another survey of the camp Charles could find no trash, no leftovers, no dirty eating utensils. In fact, except for the extra food, it looked as though nothing at all had changed since the sun went down the night before.

It was then that he heard noises coming from up above and near the end of the bridge. He must be up there doing something Charles thought, surely he wouldn't have just left without saying anything. I would have heard him rustling around the camp site anyway, no way as long as I have been living out like this that someone could have been moving around my camp without waking me. When he reached the road it was just an old pickup truck with a flat tire. But the truck and the man changing the tire looked familiar, the man was bent over the tire tightening a lug bolt, but he glanced up as Charles approached. Dad? Exclaimed Charles.

For a moment there was shock for both of them, and then they embraced in tears. Son we have been searching for you all of this time, I have been following sightings and leads all over the Country. Cindy and the kids are fine, your Mother has been helping out with them While Cindy has been putting up "Missing" posters in every major city and taking out ads in local papers whenever she can afford them. Son you have to come home with me, the war is over, you need to come home! Everyone loves you and they are all waiting and praying for your return.

2Timothy 1:7

For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind.

Galatians 5:22-23

22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, 23 Meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.

Writing / peace

SMALL COFFINS ARE THE HEAVIEST

SMALL COFFINS ARE THE HEAVIEST

SMALL COFFINS ARE THE HEAVIEST

The Fruit Inspector

The Fruit Inspector

The Fruit Inspector