I passed by a man down on his luck. Begging for $1 or anything you have got. Mother looks at me, she said in a quiet voice, DON’T look at him, He made his choice. I looked at my mother with her nose in the air. Marching off. Not even pretending to care. My thoughts wandering as we walked away, What was his storey that put him here today? This man was too young to be here like this. Needing your help. To escape from his apparent abyss. Watching others as they pass him by. “Not a hand out. Just a hand up.” Was his catch cry. But still no one stopped, they just walk even fast. Smiling and talking as they reach the arms of their pastor. We all get seated and the preaching begins. Telling us about Jesus and how he died for our sins. While I listened to every word that he read. The man in the street was trapped in my head. Puzzled as to why he was not here with us. But god knows best. In him we must trust. The plate is passed and filled to the brim. But still my thoughts are thinking of him, The man on the street with nowhere to go. Alone and cold in the falling snow. I hold my $1 tight in my fist. I have better plans for it. It won’t be missed. Finely finished, I’m first out the door. To find the man I saw before. He was still there. Still all alone. I gave him my $1 so he could call home. I placed the coin in his cold blue hand. He didn’t respond, I didn’t understand.