Molded by the Potter's Hands

I spent 2 days in San Francisco this week. It's a city with fabulous character, interesting architecture, famous landmarks and lots and lots of homeless people.

These people aren't the affable Freddie the Freeloader, or even the hip Dharma Bum. No, these are the hardened addicts and mentally ill left to survive another day on their own. While many hide within the environs of the nation's 14th largest city, others aggressively work the streets for a dollar or a cigarette. You can't walk more than a couple of blocks without being accosted if you are anywhere near downtown or any tourist attraction. The destitute and the desperate panhandle outside of the stores, in the parks and on the footsteps of the churches.

5 years ago I would have looked right past these people - they didn't exist. I was on the lookout for fashionable women, handsome executives, and people on the rise; everyone else was on the wrong side of life's Bell Curve. But in between then and now, I've been introduced to mental illness and the pull of addiction. I see them now.

They say you are supposed to look for God in everyone given He made man in the image of his own likeness. I can't say through my first 45 years of life I had very good vision, but it's definitely improving. I see people I know in the homeless. I see people I love in the homeless. My heart swells with compassion.