His heart . . .
is deep and wide.
It is full . . .
and overflowing.
It is tender
and wounded
and thristing for more.
He laughs
and listens
and shares
and cries.

His heart . . .
knows God.
And loves me too.
He listens at church
and talks about it
a little bit.
But mostly, he
just puts it into action.

He bought K-Mart gift
cards for us to put in our
glove compartments
to give out to folks in need.
I made a big deal out of
"giving them to people
who are equipped enough to
know how to use them" . . .
he already knew that, though.

And he is using his "restoration"
money that was given out in church
a few weeks ago
to start a hat and glove fund.
These will also be kept in our cars
to give to folks in need.

He trusts God
and doesn't let rules or expectations
keep him from living the
way God would want him to.

Tonight, we saw a man
who was asking for money.
We didn't have any.
Two hours later, we saw him again.
By now, we had cash from an ATM.
Herb gave him a $20 without
thinking about it.
He was not worried about how
this man might use the money.
Certainly, not all of the imporvereshed
are addicts.
But so many of them are.
That is how they end up on the streets.
It is deemed the responsible thing to
gauge the likelihood that the person
will use the money for food or shelter
instead of crack or moonshine.
But Herb doesn't seem to bother
with all of that.

I grew silent.
Poverty overwhelms me.
Addiction pains me.
There is a place
inside of me
that understands my responsibility
to serve and love the poor and weary.

I yearn to make a difference.
I desire to see it all change.
And I know that I can help.
But it all just seems so big.
Where to start?

I have worked with addicts before
and so infrequently do they change.

Cycles are so hard to brake.

So, I reacted out of my head
rather than my heart.

"He was so strung out, babe.", I said.

"I don't think that matters - it is not
ours to decide if and when someone
deserves to be taken care of.", he said.

I love his heart.

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