Get Home

Had a weird experience Saturday evening.

Setting: QT in Lawerenceville 11:45

Characters: Young Minister & Anonymous Female (white, late teens-early 20's)

Young Minister gets out of vehicle

Anonymous Female approaches meekly

AF: Excuse me do you have any money? I've run out of gas.

YM: Yeah sure hang on.

AF: I hate to ask for money its so embarassing

YM: Don't worry about it.

YM hands AF a large bill (well large to the YM)

YM: Here you go.

AF: (looking astonished) Do- Do you need some change?

YM: No, get home.

AF: Ok.

AF leaves scene.

I don't know where she went. I didn't see her enter the store. I never saw her pump gas. It's possible there was no stalled gas-starved car, no home she was trying to get to, no good reason for needing money. Perhaps I should have followed up, by offering her a ride to her car or going in a paying for gas to ensure the money was used truthfully. I could have given her one of my cards, letting her know I was one of the good guys.

But maybe, this is the way GOD treats us. He gives some money when we ask Him. He tells us, "Get home." Because He knows its late and the wolves are prowling. He sees the trembling fear in our eyes. He knows the intention for our gift. So we take the money. Maybe, we put it in the tank, but don't drive home, not yet. Maybe we go next door to the McDonald's parking lot and buy whatever chemical pleasure we can afford. Few of us take the money by the gas and go home.

But still, GOD gives generously and says,

"Get home"

namaste

DIOS le bendiga

Walking Alone at Eve

Went on a walk tonight by myself. Athens is suprisingly quiet at 10:30 on Thursday in 5 points. You can hear the jingle of a belled cat, the crack of falling acorns, and the din of motors on the main roads. I take these walks because I'm blessed with a predisposition to melancholy and reflection. I choose to blame genetics all the way back to County Antrium in Ireland.

Walking at night is funny. Walk away from a streetlight and your shadow stretches and grows into a giant before softly fading away. Only to repeat itself again under the next light. I once heard someone complain about when he asked someone what was wrong, the reply was "Life." Life. His discontent was centered on how ambiguous and off-putting the answer was. Yet, if I had replied the same thing the next question would have concerned school. Why? Because my life was school and if something was wrong in my life causing a state, the obvious next direction is life. The shadows of our lives stretch and grow and soon eclipse the beauty that is the world. All the sudden life is the problem. The oppressive feeling where we maintain functionality just above completely shutting down. Where every step feels like its through wet concrete, slushy snow, or chocolate pudding.

Life. So often I give the short answer because the long one requires too much digging into places I have covered over. The scraping of unhealed scabs.

"How are you?"

"Fine, yourself?"

"Fine."

I'm walking out the door and "Fine" can faintly catch up to my ear. I shouldn't ask how people are doing if I don't want the truth, or if I can't slow down to care. Perhaps I should be honest more. Frankly, I'm often not fine. My life isn't in crisis, but there are always challenges. Heck, I'm getting married in a few months. I have a job no one (including myself) understands. I experience things no one else.

"Not fine."

My life reels back and forth and I don't want to take the time to explain it all. People probably wouldn't understand it anyway. Maybe it's hubris or bravado. Maybe I don't understand myself like I should. Whatever it is, I'm going to only ask "How are you?" when I have the time to listen.

namaste

DIOS le bendiga