The Angel On The Hill

What are they all looking at way down there, as you sit on the stoop of the church, all bundled up and such, and not having any more than the clothes on your back? And what’s inside the large duffle bag by your side? Everything you own, and that isn’t much, despite the fact that the bag is tiny and stuffed to the brim. Clothes, and such, everything that anyone else would throw away. But you, you have kept it because you care about keeping the little things that others throw away. The wasted toothpaste that is so dear to you. The tiny photograph of a tiny, baby girl, that no one recognizes, only you.

Don’t they know, can’t they see? You are just like them, just like me. What they can’t see, is you were once the mother of a small child who was taken away because you couldn’t afford to put food in her belly, or afford clothes for her. Just like us you were all snug as a bug in a high rise apartment up on Fourty-second Street, when the planes came down on the mighty towers when the clock struck eight thirty eight! Everything changed after that day, and now you walk around just like us, all tired and worn, trying to find the right place to lay your head down, so you can forget what happened, forget your past.

They all walk by every day, wishing you’d disappear, but not one of them asks you how you are. Not one asks if they can buy you a simple cup of coffee! Every day I appear at the stoop of the church waiting to go in and worship God, and just like God said, “feed the hungry, clothe the poor”, I stop and say hello and give you a bagel and a coffee. Every morning at the strike of dawn, I do this for Him.

There you sit with your pretty smile, the smile that hides the simple truth that you just want to be loved. I ask you to come inside, but you look so scared, and I know, I know that my God loves you just like he loves me! So, I ask again, and I don’t take no for an answer. You pick up your bag, and I help you with the rest of your things and we walk slowly into the church, my church, your church, their church. Their God, our God. We are all the same and for once in my life I listen to the calling of the Angel, up on the hill crying out for someone, anyone to look down on you and lift you up.

So today, we go into my church and we will praise our God, because our God can heal it all! And today, you are in the house, the beautiful home of Jesus and you can remain here as long as you like!

For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me. Matthew 25:35 ESV

Sandie Heckman

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