Eyes of God.

While in the library this morning, my computer in front of me and thoughts rapidly flooding through my mind, I noticed in my peripheral vision a man coming to sit at the table. Like any usual reflex, I looked up; however, unlike a usual reflex, I caught myself staring.

He was in his late 30s, tattooes covered his face, neck, and what you could see of his arms and hands that weren't hidden by his black hooded sweatshirt. He placed his computer on the table along with a Jamaican print bag, and sat upright to type or do whatever he had come to do. A little girl and her mother walked by the table, the young girl staring, either because kids stare or she saw something unique, and the mother pulling her child closer to her as if in fear.

What makes this man different than any one of us? What social confines do we have that would place a level of concern or fear in a mother just because someone is different? Why did I catch myself staring anymore than I would have had a man without tattoos sat across from me? Was I as interested in his story as I would have been anyone else? It's situations like this that make me question our intent as humans and how we would view the world if only we had the eyes of God.