Why I hate money...

Just the other night I was working. It was a very slow night, hardly a soul between midnight and five am. We had the occasional mid-week after bar partier but that was about it. A man came in toting a huge bag, filled with all of his earthly belongings. As he sat and took off his coat I noticed the dirt that rolled off of him and fell to the floor. Not assuming much I walked over and offered him some coffee, he accepted and I poured him a mug. "Boy I can't tell you how greatful I am for a hot drink on such a cold night", he commented. Offering a lame reply I grabbed my order pad and my pen. He looked at the menu and ordered a side of fries. I asked him if he wanted gravy or mayo to dip them in. He told me that he couldn't afford any and I politely took his menu and posted his order. As I waited for the order my boss filled me in on this particular customer. She told me that he used to be a regular, coming quite often with his wife and kids to have a great big family feast, and when you eat at Rocko's you don't get anything but. One time he came in by himself and had said that the Misses had kicked him out and that he wasn't allowed to see the kids anymore. Eventually he stopped coming all together and dropped out of mind. "I guess he lost everything in that divorce", my boss said, "Even his home". After savouring his fries and having a refill of his coffee he fell asleep. I wasn't really sure what to do, I was told that I should kick people out if they are just lingering or if they are trying to use the diner as a shelter. But something within me just filled with compassion for this man so I let him sleep. He slept for hours. Waking up every so often just to look around and make sure that he wasn't in the way of anything that I needed to do. Each time he woke up he would meet my gaze with a expression of joy and gratitude that he wasn't huddled in some back alley trying to sleep in the cold and wet. Around the time that I was finishing my shift, he came to the counter to pay. He paid for his fries and coffee and left me a tip. A twoonie. I stood there looking at the money in my hand as all of the world passed by. I couldn't believe it. I had been tipped by a homeless man...that is generosity right there. In the palm of my hand I held his ticket to a warm coffee or a shower, maybe even a meal. I wanted desprately to give it back to him. To tell him to keep it, but before I could he was gone. As I drove home I couldn't help but feel a sense of anger course through my blood. That twoonie was what separated me from him, that is all it takes in this world. He would be looked down on, stepped over and cast aside simply because he didn't have any money. And I would be respected, wanted, and loved by this world because I had some. I couldn't believe it. Nothing made me different from this man except the fact that I make 8 dollars an hour and he makes whatever he can pan handling. That sucks. I hate how materialistic we are and I hate how part of me just assumes that there is something wrong with people who live in the streets. How many times have I claimed God's love and stepped over someone huddled on the street? How often have I just averted my eyes and pretended I didn't see them? That makes me sick. I hate money because on some level it controls everyone. I just really hate it...
Communism is looking pretty good right now..

**Lord Jesus watch over that man and keep him safe. Teach me to love and teach me that all I have is yours. I can't live in two camps, God, teach me to live in yours. Everything that I have kept for myself is yours. Take my finances and show me how to be a steward. Take me on this journey and lead me step by step. I am yours.**