This I Know...

Austin and I went to the grocery store tonight. We are scrambling to prepare for an impromptu birthday party for him tomorrow (he was supposed to be with his mom this week in Iowa). He and I went to pick up a few food items, etc. for his special day tomorrow.

As we were headed home, we decided to grab some late supper and go down to sit at the river and eat. As the sun was beginning to set, we pulled the van into a stall near the historic Lincoln statue and cabin on the North side of the Rock River. I noticed some of the homeless men I know from the shelter sitting under the porch of the cabin. I waved as we sat in the van eating and talking.

There is a man in our town. His name is Scott. He has no legs, and he pushes himself around in his wheelchair... all over town. I've seen his chair at the taverns around town many times. One night, a little over a year ago, I sat at a stop light in my husband's car. I don't drive his work car very often, as it generally leads to some type of embarrassment. (In the winter, the window sticks, and I have had to pound on it like a maniac to get it to open at drive-up windows or mailboxes.) That night, it was warm, and he had the sun roof and every window open as I borrowed it to drive over to our realtor's house. As I sat at the light, I looked to my right and saw Scott. He was obviously intoxicated and shouting at passersby - swearing and screaming angry words. I was alone in the car and getting nervous. I couldn't help looking at him, but then we locked eyes. Oh, no! I panicked as he started rolling off the curb and toward the car. Buttons, buttons... where were the right buttons to roll up every conceivable window and open crevice in the car and lock all the doors? I fumbled recklessly as "flight or flight faster" was apparently kicking in. Rationally thinking, I would have known that this man was virtually harmless. He didn't seem harmless. I managed to get the window almost completely rolled up as he rolled up to the window and began to pound on it with his fists. I looked over at him, smiling nervously and waving, as my heart pounded in my chest. He looked at me, and said, "I'm sorry, ma'am," and moved on to the next car.

Well, tonight I met Scott. He had been sitting, talking with the other homeless men at the cabin. Austin asked me if that was the man who had been yelling at me through the car window that time (as he had heard the story), and I replied yes. He asked how the man had lost his legs. I told him that I wasn't sure, but that I had heard a rumor that it had to do with his being drunk and falling into a fire. As Austin and I talked and ate while listening to the radio, Scott began to roll toward the van. My heart started to skip a little again as I contemplated turning the key in the ignition and taking off again. I said something to the effect of, "Oh, great. Now what are we going to do?" Austin said, "I'm with you this time, mom." It was more comfort than I had anticipated, and we just sat watching as Scott made his move.

He rolled up to the curb next to the van and started to talk. The smell of alcohol and unbathed flesh drifted toward the car. Flies and bugs were buzzing about him and crawling on his body. His fingernails were long and yellow and many of them were broken off jaggedly. He had trash bags wrapped around the bottoms of what was left of his legs. He was wearing an open button-down jersey and some purple shorts. His yellowed gray hair was partially covered in a brown cap. He asked about the weather report. (I had actually just looked at it on the computer before I left home and therefore had a valid response - some common ground.) He told us stories about doctors who had done him wrong, people who had called him names and nearly run him down, and his dreams to write and sing a song on stage with his fender guitar signed by Eric Clapton. He told us the story of how he had lost his legs in a fire one night when he was drunk and how his friends had rolled him too close to the fire and he had lain there for 12 hours - not knowing his legs were burning. He told us about his housing situation, the government, his dream of rolling to Washington D.C. before he dies. He told us how he had been a Navy Seal for 4 years and showed us the cross tattoo he had gotten at age 14. I got out of the van to introduce myself properly and went to kneel down next to him to listen closer. He told me he was dying of pancreatic cancer according to the doctor and had about 6 months to live. As he began to weep heavily, he cried that he knew he was going to die and was afraid he wasn't leaving anything good behind. He told me how he had always been a "hell raiser". He sobbed that he didn't know where he was going to go when he died. "I've paid my daily dues," he said, "but I'm still afraid I'll end up in hell."

Amid the distractions of sirens passing and motorcycles rumbling past, I found it difficult to take up such a complex topic. I asked him if he knew about Jesus, and he said he did. We talked awhile about spiritual things. I asked him if he knew he was created for more than he was living. He began to cry again, and he said that he did. We talked about the longing for eternity with God, and I got up the courage to ask if I could pray with him. At the moment the words were coming out of my mouth, a motorcycle roared past loudly and drowned me out. WHY??? Hadn't it been hard enough to ask without not being heard? Scott (who I found was easily distracted by noise, etc.) seemed off in another world now, talking about motorcycles, and shouting at the man who had ridden by. I felt maybe I was off the hook - almost relieved. I started to think of ways to end this conversation, because the sun was nearly down, and I needed to get home. After he got done shouting at the motorcycler, he looked up at me, and said, "Yes, I want you to pray with me." So he had heard me after all. As if thinking of it simultaneously, we reached out to hold hands. I prayed silently that I would say what needed to be said. He wept as I prayed - thanking God for Scott and his life and for many other things. I can't remember what all I prayed, but he wept heavily again. He thanked me when I was done. I gave him a hug. He embraced me tightly and said, "You know me, don't you?" It struck me that he just wanted to be known by someone. He wanted someone to see him. He asked if we had a dollar so he could get a hamburger - swearing (without any prompting) that he was going to use it for food (as he already had 2 large cans of beer in his lap). Austin piped up from the car, "I have one!" He gave it to me. I handed it to Scott, and I got in the van. As he wheeled away, he declared, "If I was younger, I'd have married you, darlin'." At which, I smiled.

When I got back into the van and shut the door, Austin smiled, and he said, "Wow, mom. He liked talking to you. I think you earned a big, purple jewel in your crown tonight." I smiled doubtfully as I turned the key to start toward home. Except... the ignition clicked - dead battery. I had failed to turn off the radio/lights as I was talking to Scott, and we were stuck there another 20 minutes as we waited for my wonderful granddad to come jump start our dead battery. It was a little awkward as the homeless guys watched us sit there to wait for Grandpa to help us out. I was glad that he could help. I'm sure Grandpa didn't approve of why I was stuck there. He didn't say much.

Austin and I talked on the way home. We discussed how narrow my focus had been the first time I had encountered Scott. I had been afraid and unwilling to take the time to see him as a person and not an inconvenience or "boogey man". I was ashamed that I had acted that way, and we got the opportunity to discuss how our narrow focus and judgmental attitudes can keep us from the joy of sharing our hope with those in need.

As I got home in time to help put the kids in bed, Levi got out of bed after our first try of putting him in bed. I asked him what was wrong. He said simply, "I'm scared, mom." As I started in with the parental, "There's nothing to be scared of..." speech, he interrupted me with 5 words, "Is Jesus watching over me?" I said, "Yes he is." He said, "Okay." He turned around and got in his bed. I tucked him in, and that's the last we saw of him tonight.

It occurs to me... we all just want to know that Someone is watching over us - that He knows our fears and cares for us... that He knows us. 1 Peter 5:6-7 says, " ⁶Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, ⁷casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you." God knew we would want to know that He cares for us. His eyes are upon us.

Psalm 139

For the director of music. Of David. A psalm.

¹ O LORD, you have searched me
and you know me.

² You know when I sit and when I rise;

you perceive my thoughts from afar.

³ You discern my going out and my lying down;

you are familiar with all my ways.

⁴ Before a word is on my tongue

you know it completely, O LORD.

⁵ You hem me in—behind and before;

you have laid your hand upon me.

⁶ Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,

too lofty for me to attain.

⁷ Where can I go from your Spirit?

Where can I flee from your presence?

⁸ If I go up to the heavens, you are there;

if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.

⁹ If I rise on the wings of the dawn,

if I settle on the far side of the sea,

¹⁰ even there your hand will guide me,

your right hand will hold me fast.

¹¹ If I say, "Surely the darkness will hide me

and the light become night around me,"

¹² even the darkness will not be dark to you;

the night will shine like the day,

for darkness is as light to you.

¹³ For you created my inmost being;

you knit me together in my mother's womb.

¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful,

I know that full well.

¹⁵ My frame was not hidden from you

when I was made in the secret place.

When I was woven together in the depths of the earth,

¹⁶ your eyes saw my unformed body.

All the days ordained for me

were written in your book

before one of them came to be.