When You Meet James

31 days of Good Deeds

(click here for the series)

~ Day 21 ~

I knew better this time.

I remembered the woman with the worn skin, sunken eyes, and faded flannel.

I remembered the whispers of the Voice that beckoned. The One I had forgotten to listen to a time or two.

I remembered the way she looked at me with her wry smile and the glimmer of gratitude in her eyes before she disappeared into the sea of cars.

I knew better this time and waited in anticipation for the breath of His instruction.

Be prepared. There is someone waiting.

The thing is, there is always someone waiting.  Waiting for a hand, a word of truth… a hope.  There is always someone who needs to hear,

You are not alone. You are loved.

It’s our job, you know. This is what He asks from us. I didn’t want to miss it this time.

I checked my wallet,

Good to go.

Another day of shopping for the small army in our house. Another day of scanning, searching, and surveying the aisles. Another day of hunting and gathering. This time, my view of this mob scene changed.

We’ve got it made.

There is more than enough for every one here. Yet, there are some who can’t get in the front door.

I packed up the supplies and headed for the exit.  The intersection was jammed with cars and the left turn would take me home.

There he was.

Sitting on the right side of the road.

He was different, though. He didn’t even look up.

His face was buried in the back of his rough hands as he held fast to a cane.  A cardboard sign sat propped against his bent legs. It simply stated,

I’ve lost everything, but my faith.

I wonder how much we have to lose before faith fades to memory.

I wonder why he held tightly to faith while sitting lost on a street corner, while I struggle with faith in a truck full of groceries.

I scrambled for my wallet trying to grab anything I could give to him before the light changed. It was too late. The light turned green and the rush of traffic propelled me forward. I had to turn, you know. Can’t keep people waiting.

That’s when I heard it. The whisper I had been waiting for…

Turn around and go back.

My stomach churned and I could feel my skin prickle with the sense of His presence. I peered into the rearview, and thought for just a moment,

It seems crazy to turn around.

Hands grabbing the wheel, I turned a U in the road and headed back to where the lost soul waited.

Ok, God, I’m going back. This seems a little crazy, but I’m going back. Please keep the traffic off me while I stop.

I turned and veered through the congested lot as my truck found its way to the right turn lane. A lane that would take me miles off course with no chance of a turn around.

Don’t we just want to get to a place where we can’t turn back?  A place where we have to move forward in this blind faith, following the whispering and urging Voice.

I sat three cars back and saw him. He had not lifted his head from his tired hands. I could see the back of his sign now,

You can at least smile.

The man with nothing but his faith wanted a hand… or at least a smile.

Why do we do that? Drive by, averting our eyes, not offering the slightest smile of kindness. Those are free. Why is it that we greedily hold those close, only to share them with someone who bothers to share first.  Just a smile.

I held up the money in my hand just as he lifted his head.

Then, I saw.

His leg, partially covered in white bandaging, was a mangled mess of broken skin. As if the man had begun to crack wide open, leaving nothing to be seen but the oozing pain that he carried with him.

He shuffled slowly to my truck and stopped short at the car in front of me. They handed him a dollar and he nodded in thanks.

He winced in pain as he proceeded toward the money I held in my hand.  My heart nearly bled as I watched him stumble in my direction.

He was worn and tired. His eyes squinted with each step.  I wanted to get out, but I was sandwiched in this red light place.

As he reached my car, I rolled down the window and handed him the twenty dollars,

I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to walk this far.

He didn’t hear my words as he turned his eyes upward and murmured,

Praise Jesus.

I looked into his blue eyes, aged with pain, and could see that he was not as old as he appeared.

What is your name?

He looked at me, his eyes soft and wet, and replied,

James.

James. The book I have studied twice in the past two years. The brother of Jesus. The man who wrote of good deeds and patience and taming the tongue. The book that convicts us to open hands and hearts to the poor. The book that wrecked me for good. I remember weeping over that study, as my eyes went to the faces of children on my screen. The book that grabbed me by my comfortable shoulders and said,

…faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead. (James 2:17)

The book that opened my sleepy eyes and exclaimed,

Wake up!

James. Of course his name was James.

I looked into his tired face,

James, I am going to pray for you.

His eyes lit with understanding,

Oh, yes! Please. Pray for healing and deliverance.

God bless you.

God bless me.  Yes.  He already has.  I smiled at James,

I will, James. I will pray right now.  God bless… you.

The light turned, the traffic pushed, and I drove away.

I am just learning to be bold. Bold in faith, that is. Here is what amazes me. A disheveled and wounded soul sitting on a street corner knows just exactly what he needs from God.  Healing and deliverance.

Too often my prayers are vague, unsure, nondescript, rote. I am learning. This art of conversation with God; it begins with listening. Listening to the Voice that pushes and urges. Listening to the souls who have lost everything, but their faith.

Listening. And responding. This art of a relationship. A dance, really.

I drove away. The sense of His presence overwhelmed me. I felt Him in my breath as I prayed for James. Healing and deliverance.

I prayed the words of James as God enveloped me in His presence. His voice hung in my words as He whispered,

I am here.

And, we danced.

 

James 2:14-16

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if a man claims to have faith but has no deeds?  Can such faith save them?  Suppose a brother or a sister is without clothes and daily food.  If one of you says to him, “Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,” but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?