The other day, I spent time on the street with homeless friends, laughing with some, challenging others with their belief in Christ, and talking openly about life and choices. I saw a man hovering under the hood of the not-so-new truck across from the shelter, and it was apparent the truck had seen better days. I caught myself watching, caught myself knowing, caught myself getting some money from my wallet, and parked my SUV.
I walked to where he sat on the curb, chatting with one of my homeless friends. I asked, “So, what’s wrong with your truck?”
He explained truck-engine talk to me as if I understood, “It’s not the distributor but a piece next to it.” (Yes, he said what the other part was, but I don’t recall what he said, as I’d glazed over by then, but I nodded as if I knew all about engines).
