As I was out with Poppy dog on our early evening walk we walked by one of the local homeless men. He decided he wanted to make a fuss of her. She was wary; all the different smells, and wouldn't go near him.

I could see it was important to him (fellow human beings looked right through him; if a dog won't acknowledge him what hope has he?), so I put one of my special doggy treats into his hand. He held it out to her; she grabbed it and ran for her life. We had a situation developing. I caught her and picked her up (she's a diminutive Jack Russell, mostly), and held her for him to stroke.

But that wasn't enough; he wanted a cuddle, not from me, from Poppy. She reacted as if in mortal danger and thrashed herself free. He is from somewhere in Eastern Europe; for all I know they eat dogs there, perhaps she picked up on this.

I gathered her again, settled her and showed him how to stroke her, which he did. After her usual show of abused dog trembling, she settled down and we managed to avoid an international incident.

But how he loved it, it meant so much to him. I wondered when he last touched someone or someone touched him. Not many of us will touch a smelly man who sleeps outside every night. When he left there was a spring in his step. I felt small and inadequate. We gave him a card with a £20 note inside it: I suspect he would rather have had a hug.

I read again and again that He touched people, no matter how ill, dirty, or wretched they were, even lepers. Reminds me why I fell in love with Him all those years ago. Lord; this week, make me more like you, today, make me more like you. I want to touch people the way you did.

 

No feedback yet