it was a cold, Sunday morning.
the sun had yet to color the horizon.
fourteen sets of eyes all saw him.
digging in the trash. searching for something.
finally retrieving a fast food cup.
the same one that happened to sit on the corner.
of the seven who witnessed the man with the used cup one disappeared.
there was a time schedule and all were in a hurry to get there.
his disappearance delayed the perfectly timed schedule.
and no one understood where or why he had gone.
later, he said the glimmer of the golden arches served as a safe haven for those with no heat or shelter.
they filled the seats.
in my heart i can see them now.
sitting and waiting for someone to pour some grace over them.
it just so happens that is exactly what he did.
he followed the man with the cup into the safety of those arches.
and there he found more of the same.
i can see his unassuming heart standing in line.
i can hear him order a dozen buttermilk biscuits.
i can feel the weight of the bag stuffed with warm goodness.
i can taste His love and kindness.
for there is only One who beckoned him to follow the man with the cup.
he passed out the biscuits one by one until each held a piece of the bread of life in their hands.
perhaps they felt the Spirit breeze through those golden arches on that cold morning.
perhaps the grace of a stranger warmed their hearts and feed their souls.
sometimes grace comes wrapped in paper and tastes like breakfast.
and sometimes it feels like a story your eyes missed.