While leaving a diner on Central (Route 66) close to some of Albuquerque's homeless hot spots, after a late working lunch with Joy Junction Outreach Coordinator Kathy Sotelo, we were stopped by a well-dressed woman.

Shelly (not her real name) asked me if I was Jeremy Reynalds from the homeless shelter. She apologized for what she called an "intrusion."

I told her that I was, and she nervously asked me if we could possibly buy her a meal. I quickly said yes. She was obviously embarrassed and close to tears. As we walked back into the diner, we chatted with her a bit.

Shelly told Kathy and I that she had been employed by a local corporation, but had been laid off and unable to find a job. She had gotten through all her savings and didn't know what to do. She said she hadn't eaten at all the day we met her.

I asked Shelley if she still had a place to stay. She said she had paid her rent and telephone bill three months in advance, and was determined not to live on the streets. However, eating was a different matter. Like too many people in these hard economic days in America, she had to make a choice between paying the rent or having food to eat.

Kathy gave her numbers for some local resources, and then I asked her if we could pray for her. She graciously agreed, so we joined hands and for just a brief moment we turned that diner into a holy place. When we opened our eyes, Shelly's eyes were moist and she hugged us both.

As we left the diner, I was amazed. What was the "chance" of Shelly passing the diner at the exact moment we were coming out? I believe it was a divinely arranged meeting.

As we drove away from the diner, our spirits were joyful. Jesus had encouraged us by blessing Shelly. What a wonderful God He is!

A little later that evening, I reflected back to our meal earlier in the day and a visit we had made there about a week before.

Stepping into the diner was like time traveling back 50 years. Adorned with a purple swirled carpet, chairs with purple seats and red backs, there were only a few people-even on this cold day.

Wall decorations included pictures of Marilyn Monroe, desserts and the American flag. In addition, a large poster invited patrons to "give the gift of real breakfast love," a restaurant gift card.

Our cheery waitress said she guessed the economy had something to do with the lack of business. "People just can't afford to eat out," she said.

Four homeless people-two men and two women-came in and sat down at a table close to us. Like Shelly, there was nothing about them to indicate homelessness. They were all pretty neat and well groomed, but we recognized them as they have been occasional overnight guests at Joy Junction.

Two of them ordered soft drinks while two ordered coffee. They stayed for about 10 minutes and left quickly when one of them received a phone call.

I wondered if they had wanted to eat, but their own personal economy had prevented them from doing so. I felt bad that we hadn't offered them a meal, but they were gone almost before we realized.

Almost on the flip side, we overheard part of a conversation from four ladies sitting fairly close to us.

One said, "With the economy so bad I can only afford to eat at places like this."

I noticed two men sitting at the restaurant bar. One polished off a plate of food, while the other one appeared to be intently reading the newspaper.

Two other men came in and joined those at the bar, being careful to keep what could be described as an appropriate manly distance. There was no communication between any of them. Living in a culture such as ours, where there seems to be more electronic than interpersonal than interpersonal communication, I wondered about each of the four men and their outwardly stoic demeanor. Were they aching for escape from a lonely apartment and quickly prepared and consumed TV dinners? Did they just want companionship-even at a distance-other than their own?

My reverie was interrupted by our waitress as she came back to our table to fill up my bottomless cup of coffee. She told us she was planning to study constitutional law. A cheerful soul and a great server, she had a contagiously happy demeanor. I wondered if she (and other wait staff) were the reason why these men were there. Her happy banter could help make the dull day-and perhaps a hurting heart-seem just a little bit better.

A few other people came in, but the eatery was far from bustling. There were now 13 people in the restaurant. The diner's slow pace stood in sharp contrast to the bustling traffic going up and down Central.

On our only other visit, just prior to meeting Shelly, the diner was even more deserted.

The day was again grey, and some scholarly and not-so-scholarly looking types sat with small piles of books on their tables, sipping from the bottomless cup of coffee. Perhaps some more folk in need of "companionship-at-a-distance," I mused.

As we walked to our booth, a man stopped me and asked in a somewhat animated fashion about my outfit. I thought he meant where I had gotten my tie from (it was bright and manufactured by a company called Electric Neckwear).

However, he quickly said, "No, I mean your whole ensemble." I thanked him for his kind words, and we went to our seat. I chuckled quietly, as I had gotten dressed in the half dark and had inadvertently matched blue pants with a grey jacket.

A few minutes later he got up to leave, and I heard him say in friendly tones to the wait staff that he would see them again soon. How many lonely hours, I wondered, had the man sat in that seat rather than possibly retreat to the loneliness of an empty apartment? Other customers also seemed to be very familiar with the wait staff. One staffer even sat down with a couple. It was as if this diner was the non-alcoholic version of "Cheers."

We ordered and listened to the 60's music playing in the background. The Beachboys and more reminded me of pirate radio in England, and the long gone days of Radio Caroline, broadcasting (as far as I can remember) from the North Sea.

Suddenly we noticed a man, somewhat of a fashion throwback. As retro as the diner felt, he looked. He was wearing a black leather jacket, with denim jeans that were rolled up to expose his white socks. He also had handkerchiefs hanging from two separate pockets-one in the front and one in the back.

His head was mostly shaved, but what little hair he did have was shaped like a horn in the middle of his head. As I looked again without trying to stare, the man got up and walked away. As he went by, I took a closer look at his jacket. At the very bottom it read "666." I wondered if he really had or desired a Satanic connection, or if his bizarre flamboyant dress was all part of a desperate plea for attention.

Whatever was going on with him, I knew that he would only find peace through a relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ. I prayed that he would come to know Him-sooner rather than later.

I later reflected that in addition to partaking in what I believe was a divine appointment, we had witnessed a small slice of life on Route 66-where the Lord Jesus Christ, His Love, Presence and Spirit are very much alive and active.