Thursday, 17 October 2013

How do people feel good about themselves when they feed the poor during the day and then go home at night to a comfy bed while the poor they've fed sleep out in the cold or in a crowded shelter?

I don't ask this question in judgment.  I don't even feed the poor, but if I did, if I saw their faces and knew their names.  If they told me their stories as we shared a meal.  How could I leave them?  How could I but invite them home with me?

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