Sometimes you have to be a bit careful when you share some of your
experiences on a medium like this one because they can take on a life of their
own and you never know who may ultimately see them. So let me begin this particular article by saying that I mean
no ill will nor slander nor judgment towards those who may be alluded to in
this post and I will do my best to protect their identities. If one of those
alluded to in this article happen to read this, please forgive any apparent
judgmental tones. I really do not
mean it. However, it is often through everyday life situations that we get some
of our greatest lessons and this is a lesson that just should not go unnoticed.
Recently, I was required as part of my secular job to host some out of
town business guests. In general,
that means all day meetings and at the very least a fairly nice business dinner
at a local establishment of exquisite fine dining. Now to be sure, I am not the most cultured person in the
world. Give me a Milo’s hamburger
or a Jim N Nick’s slab of ribs and I am good to go (note: if you are unfamiliar
with either of these establishments, a trip to the southeast – Alabama in
particular – is definitely in order).
On the other hand, who wouldn’t enjoy a nice night of cultured cuisine? In these circumstances, therefore, I
almost always rely on the advice of a self-proclaimed “food snob” co-worker of
mine to make the appropriate suggestions and to steer us away from the more
undesirable night-life activities (Did you know that certain restaurants around
town and their associated bars were known on certain nights to be prowling
grounds for “cougar” activity?).
As usual, my associate’s selection was a good one and we all made our
plans to meet up at the establishment at the appointed time.
A funny thing happened on my way to dinner… well, perhaps “funny” is
not the right word. I would think
the better word would be providential or perhaps serendipitous. And honestly,
it wasn’t just one thing… it was two…
First of all, I had a quick errand to run at The Lovelady Center (www.loveladycenter.org). It was no big deal; I had to turn in
some paperwork associated with a class I had recently taught there. As I was waiting on one of the workers
there to take care of my errand, two small boys approached, each carrying a
small book in their hand. One of
them fearlessly came up and said, “Are you today’s reading buddy?” Now I am not exactly sure what a
reading buddy is, but I think I can figure out (a) what a reading buddy does,
and (b) that clearly I am NOT this young man’s reading buddy. So I answered appropriately. He then shamelessly looked into my eyes
and said “would you read me this book anyway?” Oh Snap.
I took a quick look at my watch and said, “Sure, why not”. So the three of us took a seat and read
the story of how Popeye saved Wimpy and Swea’pea from a raging storm by, of
course, eating his spinach.
I sighed. That felt
cathartic. Then the other young man handed me his book and said “read mine
now.” His book was not nearly as
short as the Popeye adventure.
Another quick look at my watch suggested that reading this book would
probably put my schedule at risk.
Almost I said no, then I thought about it. Honestly, which has more eternal value – taking 10 minutes
to read a book to this young boy or going to a high-priced dinner where I will
be the only one not partaking in copious amounts of adult beverages? The decision was clear. I could be a
few minutes late to dinner, so I took the book from his hands and began
reading. Fortunately for my
schedule, no sooner had I starting reading this second book than an entire
entourage of kids came clambering down the hall accompanied by someone I could
only presume to be the real reading buddy for the
evening. The young lad snatched
the book from my hand in mid-sentence and eagerly took off to join his
pals. OK. On to dinner.
I left The Lovelady Center and headed back downtown for dinner. I had done a good thing and my schedule
had not been compromised. Indeed, I
was still reasonably early for dinner, but there was no time for dilly-dallying
around. As I was drawing close to
the area of the restaurant, however, I noticed a homeless man sitting on the
side of the road. He appeared to
be in his early-mid 40s – my age or slightly younger - was dirty, looked cold,
was crying, and was holding tightly to, of all things, a skateboard. I thought this was a strange site for
many obvious reasons, none the least of which was why a homeless man of that
age would have a skateboard.
We were at an intersection and being still the tail end of rush hour
there was a long line of cars waiting for the light to change. At that moment, however, the little
voice within me that I have long since learned to be the prompting of the Holy
Spirit said to me “I want you to go talk to him – and perhaps give him some
money.” Oh Snap. Again. Don’t take this the wrong way, but
sometimes I really dread hearing that voice. Really, my schedule does not have time for this. I pulled over into a parking lot at the
corner grocery store, got out of my car, and checked my wallet. I had a $5 bill and a $20 bill. Normally in these situations I would
give a dollar or maybe two to a homeless person, so I took a step toward the grocery
store to go inside and get change.
Then the voice said… “no, give him five dollars.” Oh snap… a third time. Really, do you have any idea what he is
going to do with the money? Oh
yeah, of course you do, I forget who I am talking to. So I went to talk to the homeless, crying,
skateboarder. As I talked to him,
the long line of commuters continued to stream past, many of them wondering, I
am sure, why I was taking the time to talk to him.
As it turned out, the man had a really cool name – Freedom. I am sure that was not his real name,
but I have learned that in street culture, protecting your identity is
critical. I didn’t expect to get
his real name, but honestly, Freedom is such a cool name that who cares,
right? So I talked with Freedom a
few minutes about Jesus, found out he really was homeless, found out he was
crying because some street kids were trying to steal his skateboard (odd that a
man of his age would cry about that), and also found out he wasn’t hungry. In fact, he had a fairly substantial
meal in a bag sitting on the ground beside him - although I have no idea what was in the bag to eat... I could only imagine. We continued to talk a few more minutes about Jesus and then
I handed him the $5 bill. He was
overwhelmed and began to cry again.
At that moment, my phone rang and I noticed the call was from someone
at The Lovelady Center. I
encouraged Freedom to go find a shelter because it was going to get cold and
then departed with Freedom spouting endless gratitude as I walked away,
answering my cell.
I talked on the phone for a few minutes outside the front of the
grocery store, thinking my schedule was really starting to get tight. As I hung
up the phone, I looked up to find a smiling woman standing in front of me
holding a small wad of money. She looked at me and said, “I saw what you did.” She then proceeded to hand me the
money, tell me she was too afraid to go speak to the man, and asked if I would
take him the money. Oh snap…
again. You just never know who is
watching you or what impact your actions will have on others.
Time was pressing but back I went around the corner to speak to
Freedom. Again, he was overwhelmed
by the generosity. We talked a few
more minutes about Jesus and then Freedom proceeded to explain to me the
importance of his skateboard. He
was an out of work painter, had literally lost everything he had, and the
skateboard was quite frankly the only thing in the world he had left from his
former life. Do I need to say it…
Oh snap. It was then I had that
feeling of divine blessing and recounted that famous saying by the 16th evangelist
and theologian, John Bradford – there but for the grace of God, go I.
By that time it was definitely time to meet my work acquaintances for
dinner. Expectations were not too
low as we sat at dinner enjoying a very exquisite meal. I couldn’t help thinking, however,
about the two young boys at the Lovelady Center whose lives were tangled up in
the difficulties of their mothers’ predicaments. Those boys would not even be
able to comprehend the likes of the dinner I was eating. Likewise, I couldn’t
help thinking about Freedom. While
I was enjoying the warmth and tastes of dinner, he was out in the cold eating I
knew not what – nor could imagine.
At that time, the conversation at dinner turned surreal. While enjoying a borderline hedonistic
meal – and frankly with the alcohol some of my acquaintances were consuming it
might be over the hedonism border – the conversation turned to the types of
restaurants they would, or would not, patronize. Keeping in mind I am not the most cultured person, I would
find an evening at The Olive Garden or Red Lobster or Chili’s to be a fairly
decent night out. These more
finely cultured people, however, made it perfectly clear that they would never
grace the doors of an Olive Garden or Red Lobster or Chili’s or any such
“chain” restaurants. At that
point, I realized that “food snob” was more than just a fun way of describing
their knowledge of fine dining.
They really were discriminating in their tastes. Thus came the final and most humbling
“Oh Snap” of the evening. While
just a block away Freedom was enjoying – whatever it was he was eating – and
was happy that he actually had food to eat – and whose greatest concern was not
loosing his one and only possession in the world – my eating companions were
professing their disgust for establishments that Freedom – and probably the two
boys at the Lovelady Center – would have considered a meal fit for a king. I thought to myself “Lord, please never
allow me to take your blessings in my life for granted.”
It was also at that time that God brought to mind a sermon I had just
finished listening to by Mark Driscol of Mars Hill Church from the book of
Esther. In his sermon, he pointed
out the arrogance of Haman and how Esther and Xerxes threw him a banquet fit
for a king just moments before his demise. Haman’s hubris was his downfall. The similarities did not go unnoticed as I realized that
even I was vain and arrogant like Haman at many times. God had appointed those two experiences
in my life to remind me of my blessings… and to remind me that “there but the
grace of God, go I.” However, I
also realized that the lesson God gave me was in itself a gift of grace. I looked at my dinner companions
enjoying their fine meal, adult beverages, speaking proudly of their
discriminating tastes and I thought to myself how John Bradford’s saying works on
both sides of the equation. They have
no idea how fragile their blessings really are… and so again I quietly said to myself “there
but for the grace of God, go I.” Lord,
let me never forget your blessings in my life.
