I met a man today. He’s a quiet man who keeps his thoughts tucked away in places no one can see. When he’s ailing, he rarely shows it, because his natural face, though lacking any comeliness, seeks to inspire tranquility and confidence in others. I have heard people say to him, I had no idea you were scared, ( anxious, worried, nervous) you never showed it.
I come upon him sometimes in the early morning weeping over the book in his hands and pleading for a chance to atone for failures that happened only in his own mind.
When he lays down the book, he prays for healing for those who have left him wounded and bleeding. He prays for God look with mercy on those who ignore him.
I see him look at the scars on his hands that have been there longer than many of those he knows have been alive. When he tells you how they came to be there, you have the sense that they are not the real scars and that there are more anyone knows.
I know why he brushes aside compliments as unmerited and cannot feel deserving. I know why he is alone in a crowd and believes himself an outcast and unlovable. He cries silently at night, and dancing in the daylight as he works.
I met a man today. He comes by quite often, but today I met him as if for the first time. Someday, I’m going like him again. I may even strive to be like him. Man in the mirror, don’t give up on me.