There is a bridge in my town where three major roads come together. And like most major intersections, all of the conveniences of modern life are available – entertainment, restaurants, shopping centers, and the like. It is a busy place.
Every weekday morning thousands of cars move at a snail’s pace over the bridge headed west. Every weekday evening the rush hour traffic comes to a complete halt on the bridge as worker bees head home.
Most of the commuters know this part of the road like the back of their hand. Most frequent the establishments nearby. And most are completely oblivious to the happenings under the bridge they pass over every day.
Under the bridge, hidden from normal society, is a community of people living outside of the hustle and bustle of our days. This community extends through the greenbelt north of the intersection and through the flood drainage that runs to the south. It’s hard to get a census in this community but you would no doubt be shocked by the numbers.
From the perspective of someone from normal society, there seemed to be many things they needed. Rather than assuming what they needed or imposing what was thought to be needed, they were simply asked. The request:
Firewood, feminine hygiene products, and Bibles.
And outside of the main group, one young man asked for prayer…