I pass an old Catholic church on my several-block-long walk from the parking lot to my office. My general posture is that of "look straight ahead, walk quickly, no eye contact with people unless the occasion calls for it."
Once in a while, the old church is open - I'm guessing it's so that people can make a visit to Jesus, or perhaps so that homeless people can take a break from the chilly autumn air.
When I pass by the open church I almost always pause to make a visit. I like to sit in the dark, slightly musty interior of the old church and offer some thoughts/prayers to God for the day, or for things going on personally that I'd prefer not to bring into work.
Within the past few months I've encountered "Melvin" standing by the open door, with his crisp suit, hat and walking stick. Oh, and his sunglasses.
Melvin's an elderly fellow who is somehow associated with the church. We introduced ourselves a few times after we kept meeting when I'd pop in the church before work. He was always really nice and wished me a good day (and I to him, of course) when I'd exit the church.
One morning a few weeks ago he greeted me with a cheery smile and offered me a blank, sealed envelope.
