A couple of days ago I
was walking around one of the neighborhoods in Newberg. It was one of those
brisk, frosty, sunny mornings we’ve been blessed with lately. Generally, I come
into town at least an hour before the office opens and walk the neighborhoods. I
do this for the exercise, of course, but I also ask the Spirit to show me what,
and who, God might be noticing in our town. There are several different routes
that I walk so over the last few months I’ve covered most of the streets in
town—at least those within an hour’s walk of the office.
This particular morning I
was walking a neighborhood that is a little less polished than some other
neighborhoods in town. I had already passed a car sitting next to the curb on
jack stands, and another car a few houses down that should have been on jack
stands but instead was sitting in the driveway on flat, rotting tires. The next
house had several gas grills in various stages of disrepair sitting in the side
yard, and the one beyond that had a rusty old lawn mower, likely abandoned
where it had died, in the middle of a lawn that desperately needed mowing.
I don’t share all that to
defame the neighborhood, but rather to confess, with great embarrassment, that
my expectations about the people in that neighborhood were already being shaped
before I ever saw the young man.
I first noticed him when
I was still about two blocks away. He was wearing a black hoodie and standing
in the street next to two vehicles parked alongside a well-kept corner house.
One car was a relatively late model Subaru, and behind it was an older Chevy
pickup that someone obviously had, or was, spending some time and money fixing
up. They were unquestionably the nicest vehicles on the block.
At first, I was merely
curious about why he was standing on the street side of the cars and not the
sidewalk side, but as I got closer I noticed him bend over and, apparently,
check out the grill of the Subaru. He then stood up straight, stuffed his hands
in his pockets and casually glanced around the street. After a few seconds he
stepped over near the back door of the Subaru bent over and looked underneath
it. Again, he stood up, returned his hands to his pocket, and waited, taking in
the street at the same time.
After another few seconds
he stepped back to the front wheel of the pickup (it had nice chrome wheels complete
with new tires that still had the nubs on them), crouched down on one knee with
his hand on the tire, and looked at the underside of the pickup.
I know what you’re
thinking: I was thinking the same thing.
Less than a block separated
us now. Even though the kid had checked out the street a couple of times, it
appeared he hadn’t noticed me. My mind began racing, considering what I should
do. If he was casing these two cars to steal or strip them, it would be wrong
to just walk by as if nothing was going on, right?
I needed (wanted) to be
the hero in this story. At first, I contemplated calling the police
non-emergency number (I have it in my phone for the drop-in center) and suggesting
a casual drive by, but that might just delay the inevitable. I then thought
about walking right up to the door of the house and warn them that some kid was
checking out their cars.
I did neither of those
things because my missionary impulses took over. What I really wanted to do was
say something to the kid as I passed that was so pithy, so wise, so profound
that it would show him the error of his ways and redirect his life. I could see
him later in life as a respected and successful businessman giving a speech at
a Chamber of Commerce event honoring him. I could hear him saying, “The turning
point of my life came when I was in high school. I was getting ready to steal a
car and this guy I had never seen before walked by and
said, '__________________.' The light bulb just went on. It changed my life
forever.”
I stepped up onto the curb
behind the vehicles and came up the sidewalk alongside the pickup. My mind was
still churning because I hadn’t quite figured out what to say. But I had
determined my course of action so I breathed a quick prayer asking God to give
me the right words and I moved ahead confident they would come.
The young man was still
standing in the street near the front of the pickup. As I passed the cab of the
truck I happened to glance down. There sitting next to the curb was a rather
large, gray, Angora Rabbit.
I like to think that I at
least have a firm grasp on the obvious. But what I was obviously seeing in
front of me was so unexpected, and was so contrary to the story I had created
in my mind, that the pithy, and wise and profound words I planned on speaking
to the young man were replaced by a stupid question,
“Is that a rabbit?”
(do
not worry about how or what you are to speak in your defense, or what you
are to say; for the Holy Spirit will teach you in that very hour
what you ought to say.” Matthew 12:11-12)
The kid just chuckled and
said, “Yessir, just taking her out for her morning exercise.”
I could now see the same
Chamber honors banquet in my mind, only now the adult version of this kid was
saying, “The turning point of my life came when I was in high school. I was
walking my rabbit when an old guy came by and asked me if my rabbit was a
rabbit. The lightbulb just went on. I decided right then I didn’t want to be an
idiot when I got to be old and gray.”
We all need stories.
Every encounter and experience we have needs to be firmly housed in a story. If
we don’t know the real story, it is human nature to make one up. The problem
with that is, we can only make up a story from our own point of view, based on
our own experience, yet we tend to judge people and react to people according
to the story we’ve made up in our own minds.
In this case my story
took a kid who was out walking his rabbit and turned him into a car thief.
I see this in relation to
our guests at the drop-in center. We occasionally have groups that want to come
in and “witness” to the homeless that we serve there. We discourage that. I
understand that they do this out of compassion, I pray that our guests would
meet Jesus too. But most often what those groups want to do is come in, fix our guests,
and then go back to their own lives with a sense of accomplishment.
Our guests are people
with stories, histories, successes, failures, traumas, joys and tragedies. To assume
that we know anything about another person without hearing and acknowledging their story is
at least thoughtless, and teeters dangerously toward arrogance. Most of the
time when I listen to the stories of our friends at the drop-in center I come
away thinking that they are handling their situation far better than I probably
would if I were in their shoes.
We don’t just do this
with the homeless. Lack of knowing someone’s story can color how we treat
people who are LGBTQ+, or those who are going through a divorce, or those who
have lost their jobs, or are Muslim, or suffer with addiction or depression.
Having a story is part of
being a person; ignoring someone’s story robs them of that dignity.
I started walking in the
mornings to see what God might be noticing in Newberg, but what I have learned
so far is what God is noticing in me.
I can say that because of
me our community is rid of one car thief, but it was a car thief that was born
and raised in my own mind.
