Jim told me that’s Neil’s shoes were tattered and full of holes. To be honest, I was embarrassed that I didn't notice myself. It’s winter and raining a lot. How could I not notice? A few days later we went to see Neil with a pair of new shoes.

He was perched high above the street underneath an interstate overpass. Jim said, “That embankment is too steep for him to come down and I don’t think you can climb up there”. “What are you trying to say?” I asked (maybe I’m too old and fat for this?). “You don’t have the right kind of shoes” he replied. Jim would know. He’s an expert. Until a few weeks ago, he lived across the street underneath the same overpass. When he moved indoors, Neil inherited his sleeping bag.  So Jim grabbed the shoes and climbed up the steep embankment without a problem. He sat down with Neil while he tried on the shoes and then scurried back down, again with little visible effort.

He was right. I often don’t have “the right kind of shoes”. The “shoes” that frequently trip me up are long cherished assumptions, the illusions that allow me to feel insulated and separate from what is happening in the real world. They allow me to pretend that people like Neil are invisible. I am thankful for prophets like Jim. They point out my willful ignorance and walk with me to the places where God is waiting.