This morning a disheveled man and I were trying to cross a busy part of the parking lot. A car finally began to stop to let us pass, but the man wasn’t moving to cross. I turned to him, pointed to the slowing car and said, “He’s stopping for us. We can go.”
“He’s stopping cause it’s you, not me. People don’t stop for me.” He buried his head down into his coat and eventually followed my lead across the street.
My heart hurt after that. It hurt the same way it did two days ago when I had two separate conversations with people when each claimed “God has no time for me. Why would He care about me?”
I think of souls so precious to God that He comes on a rescue mission to ransom us and set us free. I think of how scripture tells us He considers everything we do and loves us with an everlasting love. I think of His longing to be gracious to us and how, as soon as we call, He answers.
I think of my own youngest daughter who cried out to me in the night. In a flash, I was there attending to her. Nothing else mattered but her well being. God, we’re told, delights in our well being.
So He stops for you. He listens to you. You cry out, and He attends.