12/12/08…Oh Father! I want to know who You are, and because of my love for You, I want to do what is on Your heart. And yet, as I study Your truth, I realize it is never-ending and it never stops searching me out. In this regard it has no end. I take one step, pat myself on the back, and You seem to say not enough; please come take two steps and let me show you more of who I am. For it was not long ago that my son and I were on our way to enjoy a vacation, trading our kingdom of comfort for more comfort, fun, and enjoyment. This was at a time I was not following You and as we drove to the airport, we took an off ramp and came to a stop at a red light. To the left of us was a homeless man with a cardboard sign and a cup. He was haggard, lines etched deeply in his face, some remains of teeth, extremely thin, and not all there mentally. As his old wilted hands held out the cup for money, they tremored as if he was in withdrawal. Over the course of my life, I have passed by hundreds of homeless people and beggars and never thought twice about stopping to help them, but this time it was different. And what burns in me to this day is him; a haunting memory of my inaction. I really wanted to hand him some money but I did not. I did not want to be ridiculed. There was a suggestion from others in my car besides me and my son that this man should get a job but this man was in no way, shape, or form capable of holding a steady job. This much I knew and yet I did nothing, paralyzed by lack of compassion and caring too much about what others would think of me if I did help. Just then, the light changes to green, and I let out a sigh of relief to remove myself from this spotlight as I push the gas pedal, but as much as I push down the gas pedal in order to gain distance, I cannot drive far enough from this memory; it clings itself to me like one of those Bounce Clothe fresheners.
Fast forward three years, two years since returning to You and I think about how much You are using me to help others and lift them up. I think of how far I have come in my compassion yet I am wrong, so wrong. On a trip to see a friend, I go there to celebrate a birthday. So he, his wife, and two of my other friends pile into a car and head to the big city to celebrate. We will spend money and enjoy a great meal and entertainment at an upscale and trendy restaurant. On our way there, for some reason our conversation steers towards homeless beggars. In a great debate we discuss giving money to the roadside beggars and our struggles in knowing if it is the right thing to do. Soon the discussion turns to the intent of the beggar. One judges the intent, one says it is a scam, one is scared to step out, and me I say it is the purity of our action when handing someone money that God judges us on. It is not up to us to judge the circumstance. I am quite proud of myself for exhibiting Christ in me and my friends seem to take notice. I pat myself on my back. Thirty minutes later we take an off ramp as we enter the city and we come to a stoplight. To the left of us is a beggar with a cardboard sign and a cup. All of a sudden I am paralyzed. Something in me says get out of the car, walk over to him, and hand him all of my money, $80 worth. I don’t. The seconds tick by in excruciating pain. Oh for the love of all that is good, please red light change to green and press down on the gas pedal. All of us try to pretend not to notice him by immersing ourselves in conversation. The light finally turns green and the gas pedal is pushed. Moments later it hits me, I can’t believe I just failed You again! You’ve got to be kidding me. How could I fail again? Is it not true I was scared of what my friends would think of me? I was thinking this beggar doesn’t look like he needs it, he is plump, seems in good shape, my friends are going to laugh at me because this guy has ripped me off. And yet what I realize is I had the greatest opportunity to glorify You in action, not in words, and I failed miserably.
After the weekend, I begin the long drive back home. Oh Father, please give me another chance. I say this over and over again for six long hours in my car. Father just give me another chance, please. I won’t fail You again.
Weeks later, after visiting with my fourteen year old son in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, my ex-wife and my son are driving me to the airport to fly back home. The conversations I had with my son earlier in the weekend centered around helping those less fortunate than us and that money is really not that important. As we near the airport, what else happens but we pull up to a red light. To the left of us is a beggar with a cardboard sign and a cup. In all the times I visited my son this year I have never seen a beggar at this intersection, ever. Something in me stirs to get out of the car, walk over to him, give him $20, and pray for him, but we are two lanes over, what if the light turns green? I tell myself there is not enough time. Besides he looks like he doesn’t need it. What are they going to think of me if I do this? Pretty soon my excuses delay me long enough for the light to turn green and the gas pedal is pushed. Moments later, I absolutely cannot believe I did it again. A perfect opportunity to show who Christ is in me to my son and my ex-wife, in action, not in words and once again I fail. I am now laughing at myself because if I don’t I will want to stick a knife in me and put me out of my misery. Father, please just one more chance, please, I beg You, I am so sorry; I could have done so much good for You and shown others Your glory in me. I could have shown them the city on a hill, the light in the lamp post, the salt of the earth, and I failed. I can’t believe I just failed again. Oh my Father! I am so pitiful. I beg of You, please, just one more chance.
Three weeks later, the same intersection and by now you know the story. Yes to the left of us a beggar with a cardboard sign and a cup. Father, seriously, just kill me, what good am I to You?
By now I have stopped asking for another chance but here is where God shows His never-ending redemptive love. No matter how many times I fail Him, He simply picks me up, dusts me off, and points me down the path of truth once again. He knows I am trying to passionately follow Him and He does not give up. I could fail 500 times, I could pull up to an intersection with a red light and fail over and over again, but as long as I am pursuing Him, He will not let me fail. Weeks later, in a random conversation with my neighbor Bob, where by the way I bothered to interrupt my work-out walk and spend some time in relationship, Bob mentions he goes downtown every Wednesday to minister to the homeless. Inside I am speechless. What are the odds my neighbor across the street is involved in a homeless ministry? If I laid a wager on this in Vegas, I would be a filthy rich man. I suddenly blurt out, “Can I come with you this Wednesday?” Bob says, “Sure.” Since that day, I have joined the Jackson Street Ministry driving around the crime ridden city streets looking for those with cardboard signs and a cup. How can I understand a love like this? My Redeemer, You never quit on me, You never gave up.
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