Empty-Handed

You come empty-handed to the diner on the corner. 

The sign outside reads “Come in and enjoy a fresh batch of pancakes.”

You clench your stomach as it grumbles—it already digested

The apple you ate for breakfast yesterday. 

Though your pockets are empty, and you own no shoes,

You enter in, hoping grace will abound. 

The waitress spots you immediately—you stand out among others. 

She wipes her hands on her stained apron and weaves

Through the crowd to get to you.  You took a seat at a booth. 

“No shoes, no service,” she says, pointing

To your calloused and cracked feet. 

“Oh, Ma’am,” you begin.  “I’ve been traveling so long. 

Isn’t there something, anything, you can give me to eat?”

She wrinkles her face and lets out a snare.  Without even a pause,

She shoos you out.  “Out with you now, you piece of filth.”

You trip over your feet as you rush out the doors. 

You’re hungry and tired and just want to rest. 

You’re broke and you’re homeless and quite smelly, too. 

But, you continue walking, slowly, because

Walking is the only hope you have left. 

Then, up ahead, you see the bright lights.

The vast parking lot, the grocery store sign. 

Maybe, just maybe, you think to yourself,

I can get a job and provide for myself again. 

You tuck in your shirt and straighten your hair.

“May I have an application?” you ask the manager. 

He stands there, staring at you. 

You begin to feel uncomfortable. 

Finally, he says, “No.  We aren’t hiring.”  He walks away. 

You slump out of the store, gloomy and sad,

And there you see it, hanging in the window. 

A “Now Hiring” sign in yellow and orange. 

Your stomach tightens as you realize what happened.

He doesn’t want you—it seems no one does. 

Broken, ashamed.  Weak and hopeless.

You sit on a park bench and begin to think.    

You know you made mistakes in the past—

If you could, you would change them.

But you know you can’t.  A tear

Begins to form and falls down your cheek. 

With no one to turn to and no one to love,

You look at the ground.  You blankly stare at the pavement. 

You don’t see it at first, or rather recognize it—

It’s been so long since you’ve seen that image,

That symbol, that perfect sign of hope. 

It forms on the ground from a shadow

Of the light post above.  It lays at your feet—

The shape of a cross.  More tears

Form as you think about the cross. 

You fall on the ground, coming to the feet of Jesus. 

Crying, you can’t speak, but you know Jesus hears. 

You lay down your sins, your guilt, your anger.

Your sadness, your hurt, your betrayal, and shame. 

“God,” you cry out.  “I have nothing.”  “I am nothing.”

And audibly, for the first time, you hear His voice.

“I love you.  You’re mine.  Accept my grace.”