Stephen

Vancouver's airport can be quite, especially in the far terminal from which my jumbo jet was to depart that Saturday evening. I sat watching Sherlock on Netflix, my phone fastened securely to the charging station behind me in anticipation for the long flight across the Atlantic.
People began to appear, and with them an old man took a seat in the row of chairs across from me.
He was beautiful. Dark eyes set in a serious face, wild eyebrows. He wore a warm coat which spoke of the old world as did his Yugaslovian accent.
He loves animals. He waters his lawn and plants his garden simply for the joy of watching the deer come and eat. He had a family of skunks who lived below his deck, and they enjoyed the cat food he left out for the strays. He mourns the poisoning of a family of marmmets in his neighborhood the way a man mourns the loss of family. "I can't understand how people can be so cruel," he said over and over again. A sick sister called him away from his home, one last time to see her before death claimed her.
As we talked, he took out a 100 Canadian note and handed it to me, a gift to contribute to my journey.
My father asked me what was the best thing I had seen on my journey. I couldn't answer him last night. Today I know. It was the human spirit, Emmanuel. I saw God in this man and so many others I encountered on this trip. God wears flesh and blood and cobblestone and music. If you look, you'll find Him everywhere, kissing you. He loves animals and you the same.
I have more stories, but you should really meet my friend, Stephen. He is one of the great ones. Kindness makes one great.