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The Donut Shop

There is a local donut shop around the corner to where I get my nails painted.  It’s a family-run donut shop.  I sought shelter at this place tonight so that I could be alone and read and write in peace.  And because Starbucks was full and obnoxious.  This donut shop’s hours of operation are four am until midnight.  So this tiny old man gets up at four, starts kneading his dough, and has fresh donuts for the public by five.  And then he is open all day until midnight, then he sleeps for four hours, then gets up and does it all over again.
Isn’t that nuts?  I was shocked as I sat alone, reading and eating my donuts, as he told a customer about his donut routine.  I was shocked.  I don’t know if I currently love anything in my entire life as much as this tiny old man loves his tiny old donut shop.  It’s a love I’ve yet to know or understand.  Four hours.  That’s it.  How is he still living?  His love must keep him alive.
As I sat, reading my book and eating my donuts and thinking my thoughts, I had to think:  if everyone loved each other with the same sacrifice that this tiny old man loves his tiny old donut shop with, this world would look less like a mess and more like a Kingdom.

PS everyone:  I’m sorry about the gap in posts.  Life is a crazy thing.  I’ll try to get more out soon. ❤