Ready to Meet You
This morning I was studying for my next post. I had finished my research, and had turned to read a devotional from the "In Touch" ministry of Dr. Charles Stanley. I receive his "In Touch" magazine free every month, as anyone can by visiting http://www.intouch.org/. In the September issue, I read an article by Cameron Lawrence titled 'Ready to Meet You'. It touched me deeply and I felt led to share it here. I am going to quote the article in its entirety, with no comments. I'll leave that to the Holy Spirit:
"The rain slowed to a gentle shower, and in the lull, we made a break for the parking deck. Across the vacant downtown square, cafe' awnings dripped onto padlocked chairs. Street lamps stared at their bulbs reflected in the gleaming pavement.
We had just been to dinner - the rare night when babysitter availability matched our schedule. We were full of tapas and pie, holding hands and laughing at each other's jokes. It had been a while since our last outing, and in soaking up the freedom, we had stayed too long.
Annabelle and I hurried onward, our chins tucked to keep thye rain off our faces. And then, as we turned the corner, we saw him in the shadows. He came toward us, hands up as if the two of us had pistols drawn.
"I'm not trying to ask for money," he said. "Please, I just need some help."
And then, he proceeded to ask for money. His words came as quickly as my feet wanted to go.
I nodded, feigning understanding, but internally I couldn't escape the thought that his speech was too rehearsed. After a decade of living in the city, we had grown accustomed to being asked for cash, and we had been lied to before. I searched his eyes for the truth. I sniffed for booze.
"I have two girls who haven't eaten in a few days." he said. "We've been staying in the motel down the road for a little while now. I'm just trying to get some food."
I had learned about families in his predicament; moms and dads who occupy small rooms with just a kitchenette, just a step away from street living. They bounce from location to location, enroll their children in the nearest school, and work low-paying jobs - if they can find work at all. And as is often the case, it's the children who suffer most.
There's something about the way this guy looked at me that told me to trust him. I reasoned with myself. Wouldn't his speech sound rehearsed if he had been saying it all night to dozens of well-fed couples on their way home from dinner?
Something in me changed. My attitude was starting to soften. But I was in a hurry.
I looked skyward as the rain picked up again, and reached for my back pocket.
"This is all I have on me, " I said and handed him two singles. "I'm sorry." My wife scrounged through her purse for change. And he was grateful - more than he should have been.
"Everything helps. God bless you," he said. I returned the phrase, shaking his hand.
We walked away, and the conversation hung on me like wet clothes. Minutes before, I had been enthralled with the beauties of plate after small plate of food, enjoying the decadence of having dinner served from the platters of smartly dressed waiters. I had loved the flavors, sure, and the ambience of the place. But if I'm honest, perhaps what I enjoyed most was how the experience made me feel about me. It felt good to splurge for a change. But meeting this man was a sobering interruption.
Back in the car, I was quiet. But my wife, who is a much better human than I am broke the silence. "We should go back and offer to buy him groceries," she said. As I considered her suggestion, wht came to mind were the haunting words God will speak on that final day: "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me" (Matt. 25:40 NIV). I shifted into gear.
We cruised around looking for the man, but he was nowhere. Finally giving up, I turned toward home, and the heaviness of realization stayed upon me: I had been slow of heart, more concerned with myself and my schedule than with the person in front of me. I had given Jesus two dollars and left Him on the side of the road.
Weeks later, as I sit at the table with my daughters, I am still thinking about that man, wondering where he and his little girls are - if they're hungry, or still have a safe plae to sleep. I pray the next time I meet someone in his shoes, I'll be more prepared. I hope next time, I'll be ready to meet the Lord."
"The rain slowed to a gentle shower, and in the lull, we made a break for the parking deck. Across the vacant downtown square, cafe' awnings dripped onto padlocked chairs. Street lamps stared at their bulbs reflected in the gleaming pavement.
We had just been to dinner - the rare night when babysitter availability matched our schedule. We were full of tapas and pie, holding hands and laughing at each other's jokes. It had been a while since our last outing, and in soaking up the freedom, we had stayed too long.
Annabelle and I hurried onward, our chins tucked to keep thye rain off our faces. And then, as we turned the corner, we saw him in the shadows. He came toward us, hands up as if the two of us had pistols drawn.
"I'm not trying to ask for money," he said. "Please, I just need some help."
And then, he proceeded to ask for money. His words came as quickly as my feet wanted to go.
I nodded, feigning understanding, but internally I couldn't escape the thought that his speech was too rehearsed. After a decade of living in the city, we had grown accustomed to being asked for cash, and we had been lied to before. I searched his eyes for the truth. I sniffed for booze.
"I have two girls who haven't eaten in a few days." he said. "We've been staying in the motel down the road for a little while now. I'm just trying to get some food."
I had learned about families in his predicament; moms and dads who occupy small rooms with just a kitchenette, just a step away from street living. They bounce from location to location, enroll their children in the nearest school, and work low-paying jobs - if they can find work at all. And as is often the case, it's the children who suffer most.
There's something about the way this guy looked at me that told me to trust him. I reasoned with myself. Wouldn't his speech sound rehearsed if he had been saying it all night to dozens of well-fed couples on their way home from dinner?
Something in me changed. My attitude was starting to soften. But I was in a hurry.
I looked skyward as the rain picked up again, and reached for my back pocket.
"This is all I have on me, " I said and handed him two singles. "I'm sorry." My wife scrounged through her purse for change. And he was grateful - more than he should have been.
"Everything helps. God bless you," he said. I returned the phrase, shaking his hand.
We walked away, and the conversation hung on me like wet clothes. Minutes before, I had been enthralled with the beauties of plate after small plate of food, enjoying the decadence of having dinner served from the platters of smartly dressed waiters. I had loved the flavors, sure, and the ambience of the place. But if I'm honest, perhaps what I enjoyed most was how the experience made me feel about me. It felt good to splurge for a change. But meeting this man was a sobering interruption.
Back in the car, I was quiet. But my wife, who is a much better human than I am broke the silence. "We should go back and offer to buy him groceries," she said. As I considered her suggestion, wht came to mind were the haunting words God will speak on that final day: "Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me" (Matt. 25:40 NIV). I shifted into gear.
We cruised around looking for the man, but he was nowhere. Finally giving up, I turned toward home, and the heaviness of realization stayed upon me: I had been slow of heart, more concerned with myself and my schedule than with the person in front of me. I had given Jesus two dollars and left Him on the side of the road.
Weeks later, as I sit at the table with my daughters, I am still thinking about that man, wondering where he and his little girls are - if they're hungry, or still have a safe plae to sleep. I pray the next time I meet someone in his shoes, I'll be more prepared. I hope next time, I'll be ready to meet the Lord."
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