The realization that Sunday morning is still Saturday night for many

Recently I have really taken a liking to early morning runs. The sun is not to hot yet. The city is beginning to grumble. And I find myself up and at 'em early any way, why not take advantage of the fact that I am able to enjoy this time alone. I'm usually alone.

Monday through Friday mornings are quite uneventful. As I pass by the bars on the plaza I find the aroma of stale beer and cigarettes still in the air. Generally, this stikes a whole thought process for me about the tasks that still lie ahead for missionaries in this city. Which only seems to be the beginning. Eryn-May came with me this morning as I ran down the plaza toward the prado. We passed the bars as we usually do, only two stumble upon three men.

Now, don't worry, they were passed out drunk. And harmless. This is a new concept to me. Never in the city of Chicago would police allow men to passout outside a bar near the middle of the street. In fact, I find myself thinking that this action is likley illegal. My first thought CPR, Rescue breathing, and are they alive? The smell of beer quickly overwhelms me and I realize they are simply napping after a long evening.

Not quite sure why, but hours later, these men lay heavy on my heart. Several things come to mind. Where are their friends and family? Are they worried? Will they be okay? Will someone less kind come across their path? And goodness, what can we do?

Right now, I ask for prayer. Prayer for my heart and mind as I continue to digest things like this day in and day out. Prayer for these three men. That they are safe, find a warm meal this morning/afternoon, and that the Lord would move in the hearts and souls upon waking up in the street. And prayer for this city. May missionaries continue to feel called to be here and may the Lord continue to use imperfect servants to reach imperfect souls perfectly.