"I am not your lord."

"I would know you anywhere. I am hungry, Lord."

"Here, take this money and buy something to eat. Now leave me alone!"

"Thank you, Lord. Bless you."

Crazy old coot! he thought. Alcohol has damaged his brain. Imagine, thinking I could be anyone's lord.

It was late, and the chill of the pavement was seeping into his bones. He had been walking for hours not knowing or caring where he was going.

"Lord, you have found me!" called a young woman, hair dirty,
clothes soiled. She stepped out from the shadow of a building and tugged at his sleeve. "Oh Lord, I am so lonely. Please stay with me. I have no where to go."

"Let go of me! Are you crazy? I am not your lord!"

"Take me with you. I won't be a bother. I am so alone." She held onto his sleeve as her eyes pleaded with his.

"I will show you a safe place to spend the night. That is all. I am not your lord. I am a stranger. Now let go of me and I will take you!" He led her to a church he had passed earlier in the night. She would find comfort there.

He continued walking the streets as though something was pulling him onward. Hours passed and he found himself in a desolate spot, an area known for its poverty. He pulled at his overcoat trying to stay warm. The sound of someone whispering stopped him. He walked toward a large piece of cardboard propped up against a building and called out, "Who's there?"

"It's me, your servant, William. I have been waiting for you." A broken figure pulled himself out from under the debris. "I am cold, Lord."

"I am not your lord! Do you have no home? Why are you here? Where is your family?"

"You are my family. Lord, I am so cold."

"Here, take my coat. It will keep you warm. Tomorrow, you go find shelter. You hear? Tomorrow!"

"Oh, praise the lord!" said the homeless man.

The stranger walked through the night until the sun rose in the sky and the pull of the night left him. When he realized he was standing in front of the building where he lived, he climbed the stairs and entered his apartment, stopping only to retrieve the morning paper that lay at the foot of his door. He hadn't felt hunger or the cold since he had met the strange lot in need.

Sitting in a chair, he began to read the paper. A familiar face looked back at him from a page. It was the woman he had led to shelter in the church. She had been raped, stabbed, and left to die in an alley. He turned the pages until he came to a story of a man who was found frozen under a shanty box, and another of a derelict who was killed while robbing a convenience store. It read that the deceased had asked for food and was turned down. He started screaming that he had a gun in his pocket. The man behind the counter shot him.

How could this be? I saw them all just hours ago. Helped them. Did I dream it? He turned the page again and again until he stopped at a name. His name. It was on the obituary page nestled between the words "Lord, take thy servant," and "forgive him for his sins and show him the way to salvation." He knew then that he would walk again that night, and every night thereafter.