Homeless Boy Crying Abba

Here is another Blast from the Past post. I hope you are blessed with it.

Fat Beggars School of Prophets

He.

He missed his visit with his son.  The son who lives in my care.  I wept and prayed for him then.  Born premature and hooked on drugs, the boy was born into foster care where I put my claim on him for all I am worth, and with all its limitations.  Only a few months old, he has no idea, of course, but I do.

I do, and I already feel the pain storing up for him when he is old enough to “understand” it.  I am haunted by the Pearl Jam song as I think about it.

Well, I’ve got a little story for you too.  I am not at liberty to tell his, nor would it help.  But I will tell you mine – mine and yours.

I knew my dad, and he raised me.  He loves me to this very day.  But there was a day…

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