It wasn't quite the answer to prayer I was hoping for. As I cycled down to Southwark with my guitar on my back, dodging the puddles I prayed to see something of God's beauty.
I saw the obvious, the tulips, hanging droplets of waters from pink blossom, the smile of a baby being pushed to church. But it wasn't until I was locking my bike that I saw it. Bedraggled, sodden, pale and bleary eyed was a young man who looked middle aged, bent over he was being extremely and violently ill. That in itself was not the beauty.
The beauty came in a community that is Southwark Corps embracing and caring for a homeless guy that can not stop being sick, but yet the hospital discharged him saying there was nothing that could be done. As I left a team of people were still caring and I could hear his thick Eastern Europe accent as he repeatedly said thank you.