Latest Article|September 3, 2020|Free::
Making Grown Men Cry Since 1992
I have been waiting in a small anteroom with steel doors. I notice some blood on the floor. A ragged bum appears behind me and says, "I guess I really had to go to the bathroom." Not only are his clothes and hair filthy and disheveled, but his hands are horribly wounded or diseased. His right hand is a dry, cracked stub and the fingers on his left hand are partially shredded. I am initially repulsed and back away from him. However, something inside me tells me to take hold of his better hand. I meet his eyes and realize that I know him like a brother. We are the same. I am moved to tears of joy and and gratitude for our meeting and I am filled with compassion for him.