You know what happens when you buy breakfast for a homeless guy?

He eats.

More than that, he doesn’t feel overlooked or avoided by everyone for yet another day of his invisible life.

He smiles.

His faith in strangers is renewed just a little, maybe even enough to bring him out of hiding into getting help for his mental health or addiction.

He cleans up.

Washes his hands and face for maybe the first time in a week while the food’s cooking and feels better for doing so.

He’s surprised

when you extend your hand for a shake after the meal, for no one has voluntarily reached out to touch him in a very long time.

He’s still homeless.

No plan, no pathway, no purpose, just one early morning experience of fellowship where many seeds were planted that may make the continuing of his dismal existence a little less attractive and his options for help a little moreso.

Then he walks away.