Just people watching. I know how it's considered rude. But I can't help myself from imagining the inner lives of people around me. I wonder about their expression... thoughts... the meaning of their sadness or joy. 

That lovely young woman wearing black- a long black dress and black hat, red lipstick. Why did she just catch a tear running down her cheek, and glance around to check to make sure no one would see it? I want to go and comfort her, but it appears to be a private moment. I whisper a prayer for her and stay seated, though my heart hurts at her obvious pain.

Ah, I wish I had my camera with me- that couple over there. Yes, them. Hands clasped across the table. The young man in blue jeans is grinning excitedly, and the young woman in the denim jacket and floral sundress is laughing. Do you see them?  Her engagement ring flashes in the perfect light streaming through the glass windowpane. I smile as I know the meaning of their joy. But- that old man over there (yes, the bearded one). Sitting alone, with his plaid blue shirt, the collar slightly wrinkled. Just sitting there. Staring into his mug... he looks like he just lost his best friend. A jar of brightest- red geraniums sits on his table, unheeded.

Hearing the cutest conversation behind me. The two elderly men congratulate the young coffee-shop worker on what seems to be her recent marriage. "He who finds a wife finds a good thing," quotes one. "G-d says that!" Apparently the three already know each other (this definitely isn't their first conversation); she smiles and remarks, "Yes- it's already been a month; but I'm still getting used to this. I wake up and, 'oh, here I am, a wife.'" She laughs, and the two men continue their conversation about Ephesians over pastries and open Bibles. Sitting at the table opposite with my own sister, as we chat about "future" wedding plans over  the many charms on Pinterest, I smile. Her freckles crease and her Irish eyes of ice-blue nearly disappear into her silently giggling face.

I take a sip from the white ceramic mug, feel the steam warm my face and toast my chilled hands, my fingers a little cramped from the words scattered through my blank notebooks.

It's later in the evening. The lady tells us to "step aside" in a voice dynamic which I can't quite place- somewhere in between chilly and cross, or tired and aggravated with her day. I step back, apologizing; but inside, I am slightly indignant. On the way home, another lady crosses the street in front of us as our little blue car sits at a red light at a crossroads. "Mom! He could have hit her." My face betrays my concern. He misses her as she trips on as if she had no concern or sight. Unsteadily, she trips and falls just as she reaches the middle. As a driver opens his door, she waves him away, and continues her jaunt across the street to reach the corner store on the other side.

I don't understand, as the thought crosses my mind, just why she was the only one I prayed for out of the last three encounters in a matter of two hours. Was it because she looked as if she needed help? What about the lady who snapped earlier this evening? Was that not a sign of needed prayer and help?

Something in my mind clicks... again. G-d sees me like that last woman- who can't find my way. He pities me, as a sheep. I pray inside as we drive silently home... for the many people I saw only today.. and whom my heart now wonders over. No matter how fine their lives may look or sound... we all need Him as a Shepherd. "Jesus... take over their hearts."