Jesus sits in a coffee shop now that the weather has turned cold. Third table from the entrance, near a window. She dozes in the early morning over a large red cup of coffee. Wrapped around her shoulders is a thick plum blanket to shake off the night’s chill. Wrapped around her hair is a beautiful red scarf patterned with gold leaves and berries. A gray hard shell suitcase is tucked under the counter nearby, miles on its wheels. No one disturbs Jesus as she sleeps, and I think that’s the most basic gesture of dignity: to give someone space, to acknowledge that they have space, need space, occupy space and breath and life. She rests, and no one says “You can’t be here.” Occasionally when I come into the shop for my morning caffeine, Jesus isn’t dozing but is watching something funny on her phone or smiling with the baristas. I don’t think any of us could survive this life without a few moments of joy, and probably Jesus needs joy even more than the rest of us, especially during the winter. As I wait in line for my own cup of joy, I wonder about the little things, like how long it’s been since Jesus had the opportunity to have her hair done, to unwrap the scarf and let her scalp be scrubbed, to relax as deft hands pull with understanding at the knots before weaving their life together again with oil. I wonder when Jesus last had the chance to stretch out, to sleep somewhere where she didn’t have to keep one ear awake to her environment. But I haven’t even met Jesus’ eye yet to say hello or introduce myself, so it seems inappropriate to speculate. The line of customers shifts forward, and I give my appreciation to the baristas who in turn I know are giving hospitality to Jesus.