Pizza Man

While waiting for the plane in Atlanta, I sat next to a very loving, older couple. He was not functioning well. Most of the communication was in offhand waves of his frail hands. They spoke broken English and seemed (to me) to be speaking to one another in Yiddish.
 
A young man sat on the floor across the way. He was eating a pizza out of a box, Standard terminal food (pun intended.) He was a hip looking Millennial, maybe just shy of 30. Anyone could have been excused from noticing the hand gestures cast in his direction by the old man. The young man noticed. He could have turned away. The old man pointed at the pizza box. Moment of truth. The young man was in the process of getting up, tossing the box and heading to a gate. He headed toward the old man as if on a mission. Three points at the box by the old man and a hand gesture followed by a point in the direction of the main terminal. The old man's words were incomprehensible. The wife smiled and nodded.
 
The young man smiled, turned and headed to the terminal hub. Five minutes later, he came back with a pizza and gave it to the old man. Wife reaches for her purse. The young man waved his hand, "no" and said he needed the exercise. He smiled and went to his gate.
 
The pizza man was Jesus. Sure, he may not have been "saved." He might have been a Muslim. Maybe he just did what his mom told him to do for 30 years. Doesn't matter. He was Jesus. I saw Jesus in Atlanta. And he likes pizza.