{the visitor}

His name was Ben. 

His hand felt like leather when I shook it on my way into church. His skin was browned from riding his bike in the sun across the country. His clothes were dirty and starting to wear out. He wore necklaces that looked like they'd never been off since he put them on. He smelled of cigarette smoke and sweat, a scent that filled the auditorium by the time church was over.

He was practically a hobo. 

But as I sat in nursery with Reuben, I recalled my husband's prayer from breakfast. "Please bring a visitor to church today." The LORD sure does answer in mysterious ways. 

This man was the visitor? This man who was looking for charity was God's answer to prayer? This man who was sleeping on the sidewalk outside the church when pastor got there? I noticed when I walked to my pew from playing my violin that he was sitting there with his eyes closed, probably asleep again. 

But the LORD brought to mind something that a good man once told me, "God has called me to love the unlovely. It's something that each Christian needs to learn." 

We let him into our church and he rested. After the service our pastor's family took him to a truck stop and bought him a hot shower and a warm meal. And we prayed for him, that he'd have safety as he biked all the way to Mississippi along the interstate. But most importantly, Ben got to hear a message from the Bible. 

Trevor and I talked about it on the way home. About how he was a strange answer to prayer, but an answer just the same. 

How many times do I go places and grimace in my mind at those who aren't normal? That girl with the dark makeup. That man with tattoos covering his arms. The guy who wears a lot of pink and talks feminine. The homeless woman who drags her cart full of stuff along the road. They're not really so different than me. 

They just need Jesus. 

Give a smile. Give a tract. Give a handshake. Give them Jesus. 

Love the unlovely.