It was a cold Friday evening and my wife and I were under the Jeffereson Street bridge ministering to the homeless. We brought jackets, hats and gloves to pass out to those in need to stay warm for the cold week. The jackets that we brought were in the back of our car and the hats and gloves were in a box. My wife began to pass out the jackets and I took the box of hats and gloves out of the car and placed it on the ground. I picked up some of the items out the box and began to walk around the area to pass out the items. There was a lady and four others sitting on the ground eating the food that was provided by a soup wagon. I gave the group gloves and hats to wear. One of the women asked me if we brought any jeans to give out. I responded by telling her that we only brought coats, hats and gloves. I apologized to her and started towards the box to pick up more items to pass out. I reached in to the box and pulled out a pair of jeans. I stood baffled and stared at the jeans trying to comprehend how a pair of jeans had appeared in the box of hats and gloves. I walked back over to the women sitting on the ground. I looked at the tag to find the size of the jeans. They were size 8. I asked Joan what size she needed and she said, “Size 8.” I gave her the jeans. Fishes and loaves.
Her name was Joan
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