Roman noodles, harmonicas, feathers, and Jesus.

The air is crisp on this cold night in Harrisburg and there is not even a cloud in the sky. There are some stars out as I wonder if there will be enough sandwiches for all the hungry. A few wait under the big concrete bridge for a glance of freedom and warmth as the Bethesda mission van rolls up. The crates come out, and the hot water gets placed on them for hot chocolate and roman noodle makings. Their long bushy beards, missing teeth, and smiles of hope ring true in my heart that I am home. I was created for this. Who could not love these men in their addiction and brokenness. Each has a story to tell which is so unique yet they are all the same. I struggle for words to say but then remember they are people too, not much different than I.

Larry is my favorite. With alcohol on his breath and stuff stuck in his beard, he plays his harmonica and sings his 70's songs as if he was performing in front of thousands. He always shares with me about how he has double frost bite on his toes and how he does not think he is going to make it. All I can do is pray. Larry soon falls over because he is so intoxicated then is walked back under the bridge to lay down only to start the next day begging for more money to feed his addiction. God loves Larry just as much has He loves me.

And Cherokee. I see feathers in his hair as if he was still on the reservation in New Mexico. His face does not show it but I know he longs for home again. His long dark hair and tinseled eyes touch my heart as he sings songs on his out of tune guitar. He has some things to take care of before he goes home. I've never seen him light up as he did tonight as he played the guitar. He was playing in front of thousands as well.

What dreams these men must have had. Most still have them, some have lost all hope. I see this huge hand from the ground desiring to grab them and keep them in their state but I also know all of heaven is watching for some lost sheep to return home to their Father.

As I look into the sky at the buildings towering around me, Cherokee sings one last song. He receives a simple yet joyful applause of the seven volunteers and humbly thanks us, as I see the face of renewed hope leaving for another cold night on the streets.