I remember  when I was about 8 years old - how there was an old man that lived in a shack around the corner from us on Chestnut St, in Newark.  When grandma found out about him  -  every day she  would have me to take him a plate of food. One day she told me to invite him to the house. I was sort of scared of him because he wore torn and dirty clothes and he was a white man;  but that didn't matter to her. 

Grandma invited in and had  him to sit at the kitchen table.She offered him a cup of coffee, some of her great tasting biscuts and eggs. I went back outside to play  - but when I came back - she had given him some of my grandfather's clothes,  then had me fill the bathtub with water for him and gave him a razor to shave with.  I don't know what she said to him (POP - we called the man) but he went and cleaned himself up.  Pop came back every day after that and would sit and talk to grandma .  And he took as many baths as he wanted. And eventually he became a friend of the family and would sing and tell us stories about when he was a little boy. 

She had this type of love for people and always opened her heart and home to others.  This was my frist lesson about compassion for others and not jugding others because of the way they looked on the outside.  She just didn't read the Bible - she lived it!!