Holly and I ventured down to Chicago Saturday night to visit a friend and have dinner at this cool little Italian place near our friend's apartment. Great food, great conversation and a chance to encourage our friend as she moves through some decisions in her life.
On our way home, we were westbound on Peterson Ave. heading back to the interstate, when at a stoplight, we saw a homeless man. He was standing in between the two westbound lanes near the stoplight, holding a sign that basically stated"I'm homeless and hungry...will you help me?"
I wanted to help him, but I didn't. I don't like just giving money; I'd much rather take him somewhere and buy him a meal. I noticed it disturbed Holly that there was a homeless man in the road...disturbed not by the man himself, but by the condition he was in.
it's almost three hours later, and I still feel the urge to drive back down to Chicago to find that man and take him somewhere to eat. I passed numerous restaurants on the way back to the interstate, and yet I kept driving. Was I worried about my safety? For Holly's? I certainly wasn't in a hurry to get home.
I felt moved to the point of compassion, but in the end, didn't move at all
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