It’s getting to that time again when September is over and I start to question EVERYTHING…. simply because fall is here. My favourite time of year can be so melancholy when I’m in the wrong place. I recently stumbled upon an old entry from my travel blog, however, and it made me happy. It went like this:
“This morning I was walking to the tube station so I could ride the hour to Wembly and go to church and a homeless man stopped me. I gave him £1 and tried to head on my way, but he said “Wait, is that a bible?” I told him it was and we stood there for a while talking about different things. He said that he had never read any of it before and asked me some questions. We talked alot about lakes of fire and judgement and second deaths. He also wanted to know about limbo and death. It was really interesting. He asked if I could pray for him so I asked what his name was and he said “Allistair, but people call me Ginger.” I told him my name and of course, he sang the lollipop song. I had to leave for church but I told him to yell at me if he ever saw me on the street again. I shook his hand because I didn’t want him to think that I wouldn’t just because he was homeless or that his hand was as dirty and black as the street. We parted ways and ever since then, even after washing it 6 times, my right hand still burns. I’m trying not to think about why.”
I wonder where Ginger is right now. The memory I have of him is happy, bittersweet, and regretful. I am still mad at the fact that I didn’t stay with him instead of going to church. People would’ve wondered where I was, but would’ve understood later when I told them what happened. I feel like I did him a disservice. I really love talking to strangers just like him. I see myself in them from when I graduated from highschool and didn’t know who I was and had my spiritual meltdown of sorts. I have a relation to them that they don’t even know exists. I have no interest in bible-thumping, or getting them baptized in the nearest London water feature. I just want to help them find what they’re looking for.
A thirst for knowledge is never a thing to be frowned upon or regretted.
It is only in doing this that I can ever really feel complete.
Strange, that.






























