Next thing I knew, I found myself in a matatu with a drunk guy near or next to me at least four or five days a week. First time it happened, no biggie. Second time, it happens. Third, fourth, fifth time? Lord, what are you up to?
It didn’t matter when I tried to be more thorough in my matatu and seating choices. Like clockwork, there would be a drunk guy within arm’s reach. There were times when I wanted to move but the Holy Spirit would insist that I stay put.
During those awkward rides, God would begin to show me what He felt for these men. A compassionate love that was starkly different from the side-eyes and uncomfortable glances they were getting from the rest of us.
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