I was walking in Old Town and it was cold. My face felt frozen. His face already was.
He walked out the front doors of the Hotel at Old Town just as I was coming up the sidewalk. He was about 60 years old -- a short, round man with a scowling face. I nodded to him, but he looked away. So I stopped. "Excuse me, sir," I said. He turned back toward me, looking at me with eyes that were cold and that didn't get warmer.
"Can I pray for you?" I asked. He looked away then, and started to move away. "No," he said, "not needed." I stared at his back as he started walking. "Not needed?" I asked. So he said it again, "Not needed." And then he was gone.
It was a brief exchange, and nothing about him was friendly. Of course, I prayed for him anyway. For some reason, I get a lot of joy in praying for someone who doesn't want to be prayed for.
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