He’s short, and everybody ridicules him.
He’s resentful and bitter. No sense of humor.
Give thanks for him.
He never gets along with others. Bad listener.
Hard to talk to. Always has his own agenda.
He’s a loner, can’t seem to relate to people.
Off by himself, in his own little world.
He’s selfish, obsessed with his own wants,
clever at cheating others, without remorse.
Lift him in prayer.
He’s no saint, nobody you’d set as an example.
Without morals. Surely without grace.
Then someone comes along and sees
who’s inside him, hidden, waiting—and says,
Zacchaeus, I’m having lunch with you.
Maybe the sooner we shed our judgments
and see us all as equals on the journey
the sooner we all become the saints we are.
October 29, 2019