When my dad, a country preacher, took a church in the city, he was in the habit of helping needy people. They began knocking on our door almost every day. He gave them clothes, food and money. Their stories of need were convincing. Often, they would eat at our table and listen to our devotions. They even put an "X" on the sidewalk to let other “men of the road” know where to get a handout. My dad was such a “soft touch” that we often were pretty tight financially.
One such man had eaten supper with our family without my dad one evening while dad made an emergency hospital visit. After Wednesday night Prayer Meeting, this man went on a rampage in the street, yelling and throwing his belongings about. He claimed to be a Huron Indian who was going on the “warpath”. After that incident, the church deacons told dad not to bring these men into our house. We were to put them up at the YMCA and give them a ticket for a meal at the nearby “greasy spoon” restaurant. Things quieted down after that, but I will always remember my dad as a man who was a lot like Jesus.