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A Ragamuffin Just Like Me

“I don’t consider myself homeless,” he said in his Irish-sounding accent. “Just territorially mismanaged. I have a camping spot past the bridge.” For forty-five minutes we talked art, traveling, Buddhism and Jesus as I tried my best to help restore his broken, virus infected Macbook – a gift from his friend which he gingerly pulled out of his large black trash bag.

It was the second time he asked me to help him at Valley Coffee and the first time I looked him in the eye, shook his mud-stained hand and gave him my time.

With God’s prompting I made myself available. He was a ragamuffin and a child of God just like me – a weary traveler in life’s uncertain terrain; territorially mismanaged – I couldn’t have said it better.

Girls, how can we be more available – not online, but in “real time”?

*DISCLAIMER: My protective father would not be happy if he read this without some words of caution. Please have discernment in such situations and never talk to strangers or fellow ragamuffins alone out of the public’s eye. Maybe stick to the harmless guy with the dog-cat-mouse trick or just women.

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