The Patience of Job...Not Really

It was at an airport gate that I realized just what a flawed child of God I am.  For second time within an hour, my flight had been delayed.  As we lined up at the desk to check on connections and get re-routed, we tried to contain our frustration.  Some of us were more successful than others.  A lady in front of me was less than successful...in a spectacular fashion.

She complained loudly while waiting for her turn at the desk.  She yelled and berated the attendant when she reached the front of the line.  The patient airline employee kept her cool, apologizing profusely all the while trying to placate her.  There was no smoothing of ruffled feathers this time.  The only thing that would satisfy this passenger would be to turn back time and avoid the delay.

Her demands not met, she returned to her seat.  She continued to complain loudly and bitterly.  She threatened, she disparaged and maligned the airline, the attendants and anyone else she could think of.  It made me profoundly embarrassed to be a fellow passenger.  I had no desire to lumped into any group with this incredibly rude person.

As she continued her tirade, the gentleman in front of me began his negotiations with the attendant. In contrast, he was calm and kind.  He patiently tried to explain his dilemma.  However, it was easy to see he was becoming rattled by his fellow passenger's unending barrage of complaints.  Finally he stopped mid sentence and turned toward her.  "Ma'am, you need to relax.  This is something they can't do anything about and it is time for you to step back and be quiet."  For one brief moment there was shocked silence throughout the gate.  I wanted to raise my hands and cheer.  I wanted to slap him on the back and urge him to continue to confront her.  As I looked around, I realized I wasn't alone in my feelings.  All the other passengers seemed to feel the same way.  You could read it on their faces.  There was profound relief that someone had taken on the devil in a blue dress and shut her down.

Unfortunately he did not shut her down.  She may have lowered her volume a tiny bit, but she continued to grumble.  The other passengers and myself increased our distance from her.  It was a great relief for everybody when we all boarded.

On the flight home I reflected on what had happened.  I loved that someone had come to the defense of the beleaguered gate attendants.  I relished that justice had been doled out.  Then I started thinking beyond by own sense of fairness.  Sure the lady was wrong and there was no excuse for her behavior.  But what could have happened in her life or even that day that would cause her to think that it was okay to be so vocal in her opinions.  What had people done to her in the past that would teach her that yelling at someone was an okay response?

What would have happened if I instead of silently cheering had gone and sat next her and told her I was willing to listen?  I have to think she got the kind of reaction she was used.  What could I have done to give her a different kind of reaction?

And aren't those the questions we should ask ourselves everyday as rocks are thrown into our paths.  Job and his friends shook their fists at God and pontificated about fairness.  Yet they failed to grasp that our sense of fairness is not even close to the concept of a God created grace and mercy.  Our job is not seek fairness and justice, but to be bearers of grace and mercy.  We not only need to remove the rocks before us, but also the rocks lying in the paths of others.

May God forgive my blindness.

Tim

The Warmth of Strangers

In a paint spattered overall, he sat hunched over a bowl of soup in the break room of the RV dealership.  I had just delivered an RV and while it was being processed, I was trying to figure out how to get to the airport thirty miles away.  This next leg of my journey was usually filled with a myriad of taxis, public busses and a hike or two.  As I tapped away on my phone, I noticed the young painter stealing looks at me.  I smiled at him and asked his name.  In heavily accented English, he replied "Francisco."  For the next twenty minutes, I spent some time getting to know Francisco.

My family thinks I have an affliction.  It drives them crazy that I start long conversations with perfect strangers.  They, like most people subscribe to the belief that everyone has this massive personal space that should be honored.  I don't know if it is because I am curious, nosy, or just a really nice guy, but I can't help myself.  I am genuinely interested in getting to know the people I meet.  Francisco was no exception.  Not only did I think he had a story to tell, I got the feeling he was bursting with the desire to share it with me.

Throughout his lunch, we swapped the basics about what had brought us to that break room.  I explained that I was a pastor who was delivering RVs and that I was headed back home.  He told me that he had his own painting business and that the dealership had hired him for some custom painting.  As he gathered up his lunch things, he looked at me and said, "Timoteo, you need to get the airport, no?"  "Yes," I replied telling him I thought I would find a bus to get to the train station.  "No, no!" He exclaimed.  "I take you.  It is by my house."  He led me over to the window and proudly pointed out a tiny blue Datson.  "You be by that car at 5:00.  I take you." 

 At 5:00 sharp, I met him by the car.  As I squeezed my 6 foot, 2 inch frame into the tiny car, I found myself scrunched right up next to him.  Forget the personal space my children preached to me about.  There was no personal space in this tiny car.  As we drove along, we continued our earlier conversation about our families.  Suddenly Francisco choked up and began to tell me about his first wife's illness and eventual death.  As he told about her mysterious illness and rapid decline, he began sobbing.  It was clear, he had deeply loved her.  However, at the end of the story, his emotions swung to joy as he described meeting his second wife and his current family.  Suddenly his phone rang, he answered it and held a rapid conversation in Spanish, none of which I understood.  He hung up his phone and turned to me beaming.  "You come home with me to eat."  I protested that he didn't have to do that, but he cut me off.  "No, you come home with me.  My wife has made soup and we will eat it together."

We pulled into a tiny ranch style house with an immaculate lawn.  As we got out of the car, he motioned me toward the back yard.  "Come.  You must see this." He led me to a tiny sapling.  Bursting with excitement, he said "In two years, I eat my own oranges. Is exciting, no?"  Back in the house, I met his wife, his wife's sister and her boyfriend, all who spoke English with various degrees of ability.  We had a simple meal of soup accompanied by lively conversation.  Francisco's sister was a little more American savvy and she had a lot of fun with me.  His wife spoke very little English, but did her best to communicate anyway.  Francisco's pride in his family and his ability to host a stranger was evident throughout the meal.  It was probably the simplest yet most fulfilling meal I'd had in a long time.

Later as he drove me to the airport, I offered him money to pay for his time and gas.  He was horrified and protested greatly.  "I do this for you as a friend.  I do not want money."  As I got out of the car, he didn't pull right away, but watched as I made my way inside.  I turned back for one last look.  He was watching intently. When he caught me looking, he waved happily and then pulled away. Later I sat marveling at what had taken place that evening.  Not only had I gotten a free ride and a meal, but I had been brought in as a family member.  This total stranger shared his sorrows, his joys and his passions with me.  How did that happen?  I didn't earn that!  Why would they jump into the life of a perfect stranger?

It gave me this loved feeling that was full of wonder.  I called my wife and said, "You won't believe what happened to me today."  I wanted to tell the lady at the airline ticket counter.  I wanted to tell the security guard.  People don't do that.  People don't just jump into another's life and share like that. I have to wonder if that is not what God meant when he said "if you do it to the least of my brothers, you do it to me."  As Christians, we tend to think of those verses as taking care of the poor.  We give to the needy and maybe even serve at a soup kitchen now and then.  This went beyond that.  This was passionately jumping into another's life.  I understand now why Zacheaus turned his life upside down after Jesus invited himself to lunch.  You can't experience this kind of unconditional acceptance and love and not be changed by it.

May I never forget to be "Francisco" to those I encounter.

Tim

Hop on the Bus

I was on a greyhound bus headed toward North Carolina to pick up a truck for a friend.  In the world of transportation, busses are the lowest form of transportation. On a greyhound, you don't have assigned seats. It is first come, first served.  You stop at every little town to drop off or pick up passengers so that short one hour trip becomes an eight hour ordeal.  You spend hours squeezed in close to your fellow passengers.  Since traveling by bus is the cheapest form of long distance travel there is, that fellow passenger who is snoring just inches away is not your savvy businessman or your well heeled vacation traveler.  No, on a Greyhound, your fellow passengers are usually doing the best they can to stay afloat to get where they need to be.  Bus transportation is not "let's go to" option, but a "need to get to" option.

I like to sit in the very first seat on a bus.  It gives me a little more leg room as well as the illusion of space as I can see out the front of the bus.  On this particular trip, I was in my usual spot when we pulled into a station.  Our driver was a large African American man who had a "don't mess with me" air about him.  We pulled into a small station to let some passengers off.  Derek, our driver, stood in the doorway checking his paperwork.  I glanced out my window and saw a young woman in complete disarray sitting on the ground.  Tears streaming down her cheeks, she was frantically pulling things out of her purse and throwing them to the ground.  Derek noticed her and went over to her.  She began to sob. "I can't find my ticket.  I had a ticket and now I can't find it" she said in a voice bordering on hysteria.  The tears fell faster and her desperation grew.  "I don't know what to do.  I had a ticket. I had a ticket."

Derek knelt down and started gathering her items from the ground and putting them back into her purse.  "There, there" he crooned softly to her.  He lifted her off the ground and said, "Hop on the bus, baby.  We gonna take of you.  Just hop on the bus."  He gently guided her to the bus.  Without questioning or comment, she boarded.  Her crying stopped and she took those shuddering breaths a baby does when a mother has quieted his screaming by holding on tight.

As we left the station and rolled on down the highway, I commented to Derek about what a nice gesture he had done for the young woman.  He just shrugged and said, "That's my job.  I get people where they need to go."

I still can't stop thinking about those words.  "Hop on the bus."  "We gonna take care of you."  "I get people where they need to go."  It is kind of what Jesus said to Peter on that fishing boat in Luke 5.  There is Peter weary and dejected after a hard day of work with no catch to make it all worthwhile.  Along comes this man who tells him to cast his net again.  Despite the man's obvious confidence, even Peter has to question the wisdom of the suggestion.  However, when he does cast the net, the fish literally fight each other to get into the net.  That one cast yields a day's worth of back breaking work.  Suddenly Peter sees this man in a new light.  Yet, the man is not done.  "Come follow me."  Leave all that you know behind.  Quit what you think you are good at and come do something entirely different.

The Bible isn't really clear about Peter's state of mind prior to that encounter.  I have got to think he was a bit frustrated and maybe even a bit tired of living on the verge of nothing held hostage to the success of that day's catch.  Maybe he felt like he had no options.  Maybe he was ready to give up.  Maybe he had just resigned himself to a weary life.  Maybe he was ready for a change.  However, this was no ordinary change.  This was a complete upheaval in a way of life.  This had nothing to do with what Peter had been doing all his life.

This wandering nomad had the audacity to tell him with authority and confidence to get on the bus.  This young prophet told him to forget about how he thought his life should play out and trust him to get him where he really needed to be. The amazing thing is Peter, like the young woman at the bus station, didn't ask why.  Like her, he didn't ask for the particulars.  He just succumbed to the certainty in Jesus' command.  "Come follow me."  "Get on the bus."

I have come to admire their willingness to quickly place themselves in another's hands. In my current season of life, I know God has said those words to me.  After 30 years of ministry when faced with uncertainty.  I have sat on the ground much like that young woman.  Panicking, feeling like I have lost my way and am out of options, I have heard, "Hop on the bus, Tim"  I fought it a lot more than the young woman and Peter.  As I was faced with the possibility of the church I loved ending with no job prospects in sight, I was determined to figure out what made sense myself.   I watched my family's financial security crumble while I fought the idea of getting a non-ministry job or  the uncertainty of full time speaking.  I let things get to the point where worry and uncertainty dominated our lives.

When I finally let Him guide me, God literally put me on a bus!  It has been truly an eye opening experience about who God really is and how He walks in the daily lives of others.  I am not sure where I am going, but with each person I meet, each experience I face on the road, I have become more and more confident, God is taking care of not only me, but us.  "Hop on the bus.  He is gonna take care of you.  It is His job to get you where you need to go."


Tim

Thoughts for a New Year

Here are some things high on my "used to believe and now I believe" list:
1- I used to think that every argument had to have a podium for the winner to be crowned...now I just want to be able to smile and say kind words that affect more change than emotion
2- I used to think it was my job to inform everyone of their shortcomings...now I just want to be more aware of my own
3- I used to think that if Bob Dylan became a Christian then millions would follow...now I just want my steps to be righteous to influence those within reach
4- I used to think it mattered how good I looked...now I just want to see myself as a poster boy for the satisfied
5- I used to think my language skills were of major importance...now I just want to hear what others are saying more clearly
6- I used to think where I live is a banner to be hung up for all to see...now I just want to be able to open and shut a door that keeps me warm in winter and cool in summer
7- I used to believe that anything was possible for all people...now I just want to be moving toward what I've been created to do

no big deal...just a new way to set my compass for the new years to come...as Carl's good friend Tommy used to say, "Thanks for the lesson fellas!"

Tim