~ Day 18 ~
I can almost see his house from here.
The water snakes just around the buildings, under the bridges, and presses hard against the dam. The trees carpet the landscape. I can’t make out trees from bushes from fields. It all looks lush and quenched from up here. I miss the green in the rugged beauty of desert.
Like a drink of water before entering the parched land of jags and cliffs and red-painted rocks.
I can almost see my brother’s house. And it feels like home.
It’s not my home or my town or my state. But, just the proximity to him feels like home. Funny how that settles the nerves of a pilot’s wife in the air. Funnier still that a pilot’s wife feels oddly misplaced up here though I know this air feels like home to my other half.
You can sense the whispers of home in places that aren’t home.
You can feel close to a brother, sometimes even a brother you don’t know.
This story is from a friend. A woman I met by God’s circumstance in the most unexpected place. He orchestrates these meetings, you know. It still blows my mind.
My friend is a musician. She shares her gift with my girls. The music from the piano and the seasoned voice leading the tentative new voice cover the air like white wash over the dull. Music brightens and brings light to the landscape.
She told me a story. A good deed…
They turned into the parking lot of the grocery store and saw him. She and her young daughter. His sign didn’t ask for money. Just food. Strategic positioning right outside this store filled with enough to feed more than enough. I wonder if our attempts at strategy ever really amount to much… without His positioning?
Her little girl exclaimed,
Mom, we should bring him some food!
She nodded agreement,
We’ll get him a sandwich and a drink.
After checking out, supplies and sandwich in hand, they pulled their truck to where the man had waited. He was gone.
Man, we were all ready for him.
My friend drove to the main road and that’s when she heard it. That Voice that whispers. The same Voice that prompted me to pocket a twenty just weeks before. This Voice, it beckoned,
Go across the street. Go to the Wal-Mart parking lot.
It’s when that whisper comes to you so specifically that you wonder,
Seriously? Am I imagining this?
It’s when the Voice whispers so specifically that it’s most imperative to listen.
My friend listened. She laughed to herself,
I don’t know what the deal is, but ok.
She drove across in anticipation. The anticipation is the best part. And, sometimes it throws us off.
Nothing.
No great sign. No homeless man waiting for his sandwich. Nada.
Really, God? Here I am. I’m not sure where to go.
There was nowhere else to turn, but toward the exit. All prepped and nothing. This is sometimes when it happens. We lose our direction. We question the Voice. We wonder what kind of stuff we are dreaming up anyway.
And, this… this is when we have to keep going. The Voice doesn’t lie. Our doubt just begins to seep into the ear trying to play over the melody of that Voice.
That’s when she saw him. He rolled along in a chair, oxygen tank in tow. He wasn’t the same guy. Not the one she saw at the store. This one was the one she was supposed to see. He orchestrates these meetings, you know.
The older man waved arms at blind passersby. Not one soul stopped as the man rolled and waved and tried to get anyone to see. The best of us can be blind sometimes, can’t we?
She pulled her truck alongside,
Hey there, what do you need?
His voice, gruff and worn,
I just got out of the hospital. I’m a diabetic. I just need something to eat because of my blood sugar.
She answered,
Well, I’ve got your sandwich right here.
City traffic doesn’t stand still for good deeds, so she pulled to the side and climbed out of her truck. This is what gets me. She stopped. And, got out. She stepped feet onto the ground next to the weary soul in the chair.
They talked for a short time. The street side conversation went to God and faith. She told him about the hungry man she had bought the sandwich for, but that God pointed her to him instead.
He responded to her kindness,
I’ve helped people all my life. I’ve always tried to do good for others.
He motioned to his legs and whispered,
Now look at me. I’m wondering, where is God?
Then, you gave me this.
His eyes went to her face,
You’ve got the Spirit. I see it in you.
She hugged the man,
Where are you going to go?
The man in the chair replied,
I gotta get to the shelter before they close. I don’t have any bus money. If they close the doors, I can’t get in tonight.
The good deed kept on giving. My friend answered,
Well I have $5 that you can have for the bus.
She handed him the money and climbed back into her truck.
He called to her by name,
Hey, be good to your husband. Stop arguing with each other. He’s doing the best he can and he’ll never leave you.
Then, he paused as tears welled in her eyes,
From the looks of your face, I can tell that means something to you.
And, he was gone.
We don’t have to go very far to be near a brother. Or a sister. We don’t have to go very far to feel close to home. We don’t have to look around and wonder in anticipation when we will go home again. We just have to get out. Put feet on the ground. Feet on the ground next to our brothers and sisters. He orchestrates the meetings, you know. The Voice whispering in our souls,
Follow me and I’ll show you Home.
Mark 10:29-31
“I tell you the truth,” Jesus replied, “no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age (homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields—and with them, persecutions) and in the age to come, eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”
