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.