I go
to
church
in a
downtown
area.
Homeless
people
often
wander
into
the
back
of
the
sanctuary
during
the
service
or
linger
in
front,
blocking
the
doorway.
Even
though
we
sponsored
a
soup
kitchen
and
handed
out
warm
clothes
in
winter,
somehow
I
found
myself
thinking
of
the
homeless
as a
nuisance.
It
wasn't
until
the
accident
that
I
understood
how
wrong
I
was.
At
the
time,
I was
vice
president
of a
nuts
and
bolts
distribution
company.
That
day I
had
joined
a
three-man
crew
to
put
up
some
new
display
cases
at
the
hardware
store.
With
me
working
on
one
side,
while
my
men
worked
on
the
other,
we
assembled
a
double-sided
metal
rack,
24
feet
long
and 6
feet
high,
that
would
stand
between
two
aisles.
The
empty
rack
wasn't
all
that
heavy,
but
as we
filled
it up
with
nuts,
bolts,
screws
and
nails.
it
became
a
massive
wall
weighing
nearly
a
ton.
I
was
kneeling
to
check
the
bottom
shelf
when
the
rack
seemed
to
tremble.
"That's
strange,
we've
been
careful
to
keep
it
balanced",
I
thought.
Just
then
I
stood
up to
see
the
wall
tipping
toward
me.
Before
I
could
move
out
of
the
way,
the
entire
unit
came
crashing
down,
crushing
me
against
the
floor
in a
hailstorm
of
nuts
and
bolts.
"Get
this
thing
off
me!"
I
grunted,
gritting
my
teeth.
I
tried
to
breathe
normally,
but
the
pressure
on my
chest
was
too
much,
and
the
pain
too
great.
The
men
ran
around
to my
side
and
got
their
hands
underneath
the
rack.
"One,
two,
three-push!
they
said.
it
didn't
budge.
They
tried
again.
Nothing
happened.
Feeling
light-headed,
I
noticed
another
fellow
rushing
over
to
help.
"What
good
can
he
do,
it'll
take
ten
people
to
lift
this
thing",
I
thought.
The
new
rescuer
stood
on
the
other
side
of
the
rack,
opposite
us.
From
the
look
of
him,
I
wondered
if he
knew
what
he
was
doing.
He
had a
grimy,
pockmarked
face,
reddish-blonde
hair,
and a
week's
worth
of
stubble.
He
wore
a
tattered
orange
tank
top,
shorts
and
an
earring.
"Some
homeless
bum",
I
thought.
But
his
arms
were
tremendous,
like
Popeye's.
"Get
over
on
this
side",
I
tried
to
say,
but
the
words
wouldn't
come.
"One,
two,
three..."
my
men
yelled.
Popeye's
muscles
flexed
and
bulged,
yet
his
face
hardly
showed
any
strain.
It
seemed
impossible,
but
with
his
help,
the
rack
was
lifted
off
me. I
scrambled
out
as it
was
lowered
to
the
ground.
I sat
there
for a
long
while,
catching
my
breath.
My
buddies
hovered
around
me,
but
there
was
no
sign
of
the
guy
in
the
orange
top.
"Where's
the
redhead?"
I
asked.
None
of
them
knew
what
I was
talking
about.
It
was
then
I
remembered
my
Old
Testament:
"We
could
be
entertaining
angels
unaware."
Maybe
even
at a
soup
kitchen.
Mark
Happach
Glendale,
California
