I meet all kinds of homeless people. They come in all shapes and sizes. Some are rich; others poor. Some are crazy; others well-disciplined. Some are loud and obnoxious; others quiet and respectful. Some are leaders; other renegades.
But nearly all of them (except for the very young) are divorced. And nearly all of the very young are children of divorce.
I got divorced eight years ago. My life shattered. There is a lot of it I cannot remember. My wife left me and our place was no longer home. I became homeless. Some brothers and sisters at church came and took me in their home. If they had not, I would probably be on the streets today.
I met lots of divorced people living very recklessly. Alcohol, drugs (prescription mostly), divorce-care at church with a pipeline to the night clubs and trap doors to cheap motels and “her place” all swirl together. Late nights, calling in to work, pulling your grocery buggy over on aisle 9 to have a quick cry.
Some people manage to continue living indoors. Some lose it all and wind up on the streets. And once there, they fall off the map. But perhaps they are not so different from us. Perhaps we are not so different from you. Perhaps we have enough in common that if we humbled ourselves we might just see our long lost brothers and sisters behind those dumpsters and languishing in those back lots. You just might see yourself in them.
And then you just might see Jesus in them (Matt. 25:40) and take Him home with you.
And, Heaven help us, when He gets there, it might just be HOME (Ezek. 43).