Written in Purple

The world could not see his wisdom. It was so well hidden, but it was there nonetheless. The things in life that were important, the things in life that truly mattered; he had them all at his fingertips: fresh air, comfortable shoes, warm clothes, solace, time, and of course freedom. Strolling leisurely through the park in downtown Denver on a warm summer’s eve, being homeless was not a word he would use to describe himself. Words like philosopher, nomadic poet, painter on the canvas of life; words like these seemed more fitting. And the fitting of his clothes, though he appeared torn and ragged to the untrained eye; they were his Technicolor dream coat that he wore on the stage of infinite possibilities.

Romantic words should always be used when describing a deliberate and passionate choice to explore one’s very own spirituality; unobstructed by the boundaries and influences of a world that can be sometimes difficult to understand, and at other times even more difficult to love.

So, with the eyes of the world, we would see a ragged and torn man in his early 40's. Hair that is dirty brown, getting longer everyday, matted and in need of a comb. Pants a size too big, maybe two sizes by the end of next week. A braided fine leather belt with a fancy turquoise buckle; well actually a carefully sized electrical cord with a well tied granny’s knot where the buckle should have been, but that’s just semantics and a lack of vivid imagination.

His name was Mister.

In contrast stood David. He was clean cut, as clean as they come. Why there was no doubt in David’s mind that he was one of God’s chosen vessels. Armed with the Word and the knowledge that the Word was good (and of course that the Word was God and God was the Word), he was on a mission of incredible importance. You may not know the difference between the Psalms and the Proverbs, but you’d better believe that David did. This young man had barely turned 18, yet he knew with all of the wisdom of a noble sage what his life’s work was cut out to be. His mission, much more important than saving lives; his quest was eternal. He was going to save souls. He would steal them back from the Devil one by one!

His big blue eyes, sunshine blond hair, and perfect smile full of zest were worn on a youthful firm body made strong from years of track, and of course the holy trinity of sports; baseball, basketball, and football. Yes, of course he had been quarterback.

Others may have come before him in teams, with their sandwiches, their blankets, and their toiletries, but he stepped into the park alone on this warm Denver evening. He stepped into the shadows of darkness armed with only his good intentions and his very own, worn from study, bible. The Holy Bible, standard King James Version, with the thee’s and thou’s. The very word, bible, he thought, did not do it justice. “The Living Word of a Living God!” he shouted proudly as the daylight burned it’s final hour. He had not yet saved a soul, but his conviction would not honor any discouragement. “To the glory of God I will save a soul before the setting of the sun!”

Conviction and madness are often indistinguishable.

When David approached the tree where the worn and tattered old homeless man was sitting, he momentarily glanced down to discover a crumpled up bill, an Andrew Jackson. This is a very good sign; he thought “perhaps I can use this as a strategy to gain the confidence of this poor and helpless old soul.”

“Excuse me mister” David forcefully announced.

“Yes son?” replied the man, not looking up from his work as he was tuning a little transistor radio someone had left for him near a dumpster.

“Mister, did you lose some money?” David questioned, “I found a 20 dollar bill over there that I think may belong to you.”

Mister ceased his fancy electronic repairs; reaching into his pocket he retrieved a thick wad of bills, tied delicately with a scarlet ribbon. He counted quickly, and by David’s estimation he had thumbed through over a dozen assorted bills.

“Son, it is not mine, but thanks for asking.”

Shocked, David found himself momentarily at a loss for words.

“Now you look a little lost yourself” spoke the man, “the park is no place for a child at night. Go on home where you belong.”

Confused and speechless, David began to obey the old man’s command. “God bless you mister” was all that he could manage to say.

David never saved a soul that night. His well rehearsed speech on the gift of salvation, joy and redemption, and the high price of forgiveness that had already been paid, remained unspoken.

There would be plenty of souls to save tomorrow.