The Broken Unseen

Sitting at a table in a downtown square, I drank my tea and listened to the conversation I was part of. My eyes were elsewhere. Every few minutes I could see a homeless one come through. They are the unseen even in such a public place. I disciplined myself to stay put, but took note of each of them.

I no longer wondered where they all came from. I’d begun to make friends while in the park. Their stories were all different but they were all the same. A brokenness of sorts was at the root of all.

Pro 15:13  A merry heart makes a cheerful countenance, But by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken.

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