Leamon hung up the phone, threw the necessities in the back of his van and hit the road. Verizon had work for him in League City, 1200 miles away. The money was good and his wife was already gone to a training conference, so he set out to join the hundreds, perhaps thousands of workers who have flooded into the bay area in recent weeks to get our power, water, phone and cable working again, pick up our trash, and repair our roofs and fences.
Somewhere around Beaumont on Saturday night, Leamon's transmission started talking to him. By the time he reached Houston he could smell the burning transmission fluid. As his van limped into the parking lot of the Verizon service center in League City late Saturday night, the transmission refused to shift gears. He gathered a few things out of the back, left the van where it sat, and walked about 6 blocks to the Super 8 for a little sleep before returning to his van early Sunday morning. A night's rest did nothing for his transmission. He was stuck in a strange town with no transportation and no friends, and Verizon would be closed for another 24 hours. Leamon thought to himself: "What am I going to do now? Well, it's Sunday. What do you do on Sunday?" He looked across the street at the YMCA, and noticed on the marquis that a church was meeting there. "Go to church, " he said to himself, grabbed his Bible from the seat of his van and walked over.
He walked in the back of the gym-turned-auditorium and took a seat on an unoccupied row. The pastor was addressing this fledgling congregation: "we have to take the initiative in relationships. We aren't an unfriendly church because we don't care about people. We're an unfriendly church because we're all new, few of us know each other, and we're all waiting for someone else to take the initiative." Then he asked everyone in the room to put on a name tag, seek out someone they didn't know, and take a few moments to get to know them. The next thing Leamon knew, he was telling his story to a married couple. After the service, several other people greeted him and learned of his predicament.
"Leamon, what do you need?"
"I think I need jackstands and some transmission fluid."
"I don't live far from here. If you can hang around for a few minutes, I'll go get the jackstands and come back."
Hang around for a few minutes? He had all day, and where else did he have to go? The jackstands arrived momentarily, and after a ride to Autozone for transmission fluid and a filter, Leamon got to work on his van. His delivery driver came back a couple of hours later to find him cleaning up after a successful transfusion of fluid and filter. As the two men cleaned up the remaining debris from the transmission job, Leamon turned to the stranger and said, "I don't know if anyone has told you this today or not, but I love you." He laughed as he said it, the nervous laughter of a man whose real needs had been met by strangers, and who just blurted out words men don't say to each other. But both men understood.
Presumably, Leamon is around here somewhere today, repairing someone's phone lines. Or maybe he isn't.
Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. --Hebrews 13:2 TNIV
Monday, October 6, 2008
Wednesday, October 1, 2008
Margaritas, Anyone?
I've been keeping an eye out for a part-time job to supplement my income, surfing through craigslist and the newspaper from time to time. One that caught my eye this week was an ad for a part-time delivery person in our area. The pay and the hours were agreeable, and the business owner seemed intent on finding someone who would "represent my company well," although what, exactly, his company was, or what I would be delivering was not clear. What the heck--I thought I'd give it a shot. I replied with my best pitch about being a reliable driver and that I would represent his company with professionalism and integrity. I received the following in reply:
Let me tell you alittle about this job and then let me know if it is something you would be interested in. I rent margarita machines to private parties and company events that are mainly rented on weekends.... It's really easy and for the most part really fun if you like dealing with people and a party atmosphere. It's kinda like being the flower delivery guy everyone is always happy to see you.
I laughed out loud. I started imagining myself driving around League City with a truckload of margarita machines every Saturday. Maybe I could hand out Springs invitation cards at my deliveries! What would it be like if I made a delivery and it turned out to be people from the church? The more I thought about it, the more my thoughts turned from "fun to think about but could never happen" to "dang, I wish I could do this." Did I think renting a margarita machine was inherently sinful? -no. In fact, I've been to some parties that desperately needed one. Part of me would enjoy the job--"everyone is always happy to see you." Part of me needs the work. Part of me likes the opportunity to rattle people's cages about what it truly means to be godly, or the ridiculous ideas we have about the clergy as a separate, spiritual class in society. But all those parts lost to the part that wants people to come to Jesus more than I want to rock the boat. If I thought I could rock the boat and help people come to Jesus, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I'm afraid passing out margaritas isn't going to do it.
At some point, somewhere, there's going to be a party with a margarita machine. At this same party, someone is going to invite someone else to a Springs gathering or a table group, or give them an invitation card to the Springs. I may or may not be there when it happens, but I will applaud.
-------------
I realize I may have opened up a can of worms (or two or three) with this post. This is a great time to ask me questions, challenge my assumptions, or express whatever thoughts or feelings you have about this topic.
Let me tell you alittle about this job and then let me know if it is something you would be interested in. I rent margarita machines to private parties and company events that are mainly rented on weekends.... It's really easy and for the most part really fun if you like dealing with people and a party atmosphere. It's kinda like being the flower delivery guy everyone is always happy to see you.
I laughed out loud. I started imagining myself driving around League City with a truckload of margarita machines every Saturday. Maybe I could hand out Springs invitation cards at my deliveries! What would it be like if I made a delivery and it turned out to be people from the church? The more I thought about it, the more my thoughts turned from "fun to think about but could never happen" to "dang, I wish I could do this." Did I think renting a margarita machine was inherently sinful? -no. In fact, I've been to some parties that desperately needed one. Part of me would enjoy the job--"everyone is always happy to see you." Part of me needs the work. Part of me likes the opportunity to rattle people's cages about what it truly means to be godly, or the ridiculous ideas we have about the clergy as a separate, spiritual class in society. But all those parts lost to the part that wants people to come to Jesus more than I want to rock the boat. If I thought I could rock the boat and help people come to Jesus, I would do it in a heartbeat. But I'm afraid passing out margaritas isn't going to do it.
At some point, somewhere, there's going to be a party with a margarita machine. At this same party, someone is going to invite someone else to a Springs gathering or a table group, or give them an invitation card to the Springs. I may or may not be there when it happens, but I will applaud.
-------------
I realize I may have opened up a can of worms (or two or three) with this post. This is a great time to ask me questions, challenge my assumptions, or express whatever thoughts or feelings you have about this topic.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
The Presence of Christ in Every Neighborhood
"So, has anyone asked you yet whether you think God directed this Hurricane to Galveston or not?" The question hovered in the air for a moment like a hawk waiting to dive on its prey.
"No," I answered, "and I hope nobody asks me that."
"We were talking about it at work the other day. It was a pretty lively discussion." I couldn't even bring myself to ask what was said. If the discussion was lively, people must have been on both sides of the issue. I know people look for explanations at a time like this, but I can't find resolution in the idea that God decided to wipe out Galveston (or New Orleans, San Francisco, New York, et al.). It's hard enough to deal with the fact that God allowed it happen without implying that He wanted it to happen. I just swung the sledgehammer one more time. Standing in the middle of a flood-ravaged house, I imagined my own family watching all our worldly goods being hauled out on the curb, and I prayed. Life is truly more fragile and less certain than the fantasy we believe. Even American middle class "security" turns into vapor more often than we'd like to think.
The stakes are higher than money or houses or goods, or even health. When you've lost everything, the way the families on Maple Lane in Galveston have, you develop an opinion about God. Is He the problem or the solution? Did He decide to ruin my life, or did He send people to help me when I needed it most? We went to Maple Lane on Sunday with hope that at least three families would choose the latter: twenty or so people and those who supported them by taking care of the kids or providing food and supplies, trying to make a small dent in a giant pile of debris that used to be a neighborhood. We worked hard for a day. We were ambassadors for Christ. We did demolition, gave comfort and a little hope.
Joan suffered a stroke a while back, then lost a husband, then a son, then a house. Two weeks after Ike, her house still sat in almost the same condition in which Ike had left it. When we arrived Sunday, she was doing the best she could with her one good arm to move a few things out of the house. When we left, there was still a long way to go, but the house was cleaner and safer and the process of recovery had been jump-started. More importantly, someone cared. Someone gave Joan a reason to believe that God is for her, not against her. Christ was present on Maple Lane.
I hope we're just getting warmed up.
"No," I answered, "and I hope nobody asks me that."
"We were talking about it at work the other day. It was a pretty lively discussion." I couldn't even bring myself to ask what was said. If the discussion was lively, people must have been on both sides of the issue. I know people look for explanations at a time like this, but I can't find resolution in the idea that God decided to wipe out Galveston (or New Orleans, San Francisco, New York, et al.). It's hard enough to deal with the fact that God allowed it happen without implying that He wanted it to happen. I just swung the sledgehammer one more time. Standing in the middle of a flood-ravaged house, I imagined my own family watching all our worldly goods being hauled out on the curb, and I prayed. Life is truly more fragile and less certain than the fantasy we believe. Even American middle class "security" turns into vapor more often than we'd like to think.
The stakes are higher than money or houses or goods, or even health. When you've lost everything, the way the families on Maple Lane in Galveston have, you develop an opinion about God. Is He the problem or the solution? Did He decide to ruin my life, or did He send people to help me when I needed it most? We went to Maple Lane on Sunday with hope that at least three families would choose the latter: twenty or so people and those who supported them by taking care of the kids or providing food and supplies, trying to make a small dent in a giant pile of debris that used to be a neighborhood. We worked hard for a day. We were ambassadors for Christ. We did demolition, gave comfort and a little hope.
Joan suffered a stroke a while back, then lost a husband, then a son, then a house. Two weeks after Ike, her house still sat in almost the same condition in which Ike had left it. When we arrived Sunday, she was doing the best she could with her one good arm to move a few things out of the house. When we left, there was still a long way to go, but the house was cleaner and safer and the process of recovery had been jump-started. More importantly, someone cared. Someone gave Joan a reason to believe that God is for her, not against her. Christ was present on Maple Lane.
I hope we're just getting warmed up.
Monday, September 22, 2008
The Curse of Civilization
Just a few miles down the road, Galveston Island looks like a war zone. The causeway is blocked by highway patrol. There is a tree sitting on top of the Lutheran church in Dickinson. My oldest son Jacob spent a day last week ripping carpet out of a local teacher’s home that was flooded up to the second floor, while fish swam in the black water in her backyard pool. With such destruction in clear view, it’s wrong to say, “look at the bright side.” I probably couldn’t say it to a resident of Sunrise Beach without getting a black eye. Things are worse than normal. But, ironically, we are better than normal.
As we drove back into town last Monday evening, it was about 70 degrees with a light breeze, and the full moon was already above the houses before nightfall. Neighbors were in lawn chairs in the driveways, and strolling around the neighborhood with their kids and dogs. They came out to greet us as we drove in. The scene would have been Norman Rockwell-worthy if it weren’t for the blue tarps on the roofs and the downed trees. In the days since, we haven’t had dinner without extra folks at the table or a night without guests who needed a place to stay. My sons and their friends spent two days last week helping victims of Ike: teenagers doing actual manual labor for no pay because someone had a need. Sunday, our little church spent the morning and part of the afternoon doing the same. And this week we’ll do it again.
Sadly, little of this would have happened if a terrible storm had not ripped through our community. Not that it was good for us to be hit by a hurricane; no one in his or her right mind would desire this. But sometimes the things that are thrust upon us against our will, as bad as they can often be, awaken us to things we would still be blind to in our normal, comfortable state. One of our guests this week called it the curse of civilization: it seems that as long as we have gas in our cars, air conditioning in our homes, and satellite dishes on our roofs, we’re content to just stay there, each family an island unto itself. But take away the amenities, and magically we venture out-of-doors, greet one another, serve one another. We can only hope that, as our power comes back on and the shelves at the grocery store are fully stocked, we won’t slip completely back into the stupor of self-sufficiency.
I consider civilization a blessing, not a curse. But the behavior that Ike shook us out of--or that Ike exposed--helps me to understand why the Amish feel the way they do about civilization, and how living more primitively by choice protects them from selfish living. They choose to live in such a way that giving and receiving help from others in the community is a necessity of life. I hope we make a similar choice. But let's keep Dish Network.
As we drove back into town last Monday evening, it was about 70 degrees with a light breeze, and the full moon was already above the houses before nightfall. Neighbors were in lawn chairs in the driveways, and strolling around the neighborhood with their kids and dogs. They came out to greet us as we drove in. The scene would have been Norman Rockwell-worthy if it weren’t for the blue tarps on the roofs and the downed trees. In the days since, we haven’t had dinner without extra folks at the table or a night without guests who needed a place to stay. My sons and their friends spent two days last week helping victims of Ike: teenagers doing actual manual labor for no pay because someone had a need. Sunday, our little church spent the morning and part of the afternoon doing the same. And this week we’ll do it again.
Sadly, little of this would have happened if a terrible storm had not ripped through our community. Not that it was good for us to be hit by a hurricane; no one in his or her right mind would desire this. But sometimes the things that are thrust upon us against our will, as bad as they can often be, awaken us to things we would still be blind to in our normal, comfortable state. One of our guests this week called it the curse of civilization: it seems that as long as we have gas in our cars, air conditioning in our homes, and satellite dishes on our roofs, we’re content to just stay there, each family an island unto itself. But take away the amenities, and magically we venture out-of-doors, greet one another, serve one another. We can only hope that, as our power comes back on and the shelves at the grocery store are fully stocked, we won’t slip completely back into the stupor of self-sufficiency.
I consider civilization a blessing, not a curse. But the behavior that Ike shook us out of--or that Ike exposed--helps me to understand why the Amish feel the way they do about civilization, and how living more primitively by choice protects them from selfish living. They choose to live in such a way that giving and receiving help from others in the community is a necessity of life. I hope we make a similar choice. But let's keep Dish Network.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
The Goodye Edouard Party
We expected to be sequestered in our homes Tuesday due to tropical storm Edouard. What do you do if you're stuck at home all day? --Invite the neighbors over! Even though Edouard turned out to be little more than a nice rain shower, we took advantage of the opportunity the little storm provided and spent some great time with our neighbors, eating and playing cards. Everyone brought something to eat, ranging from biscuits with homemade jelly to take-out pizza, and we just hung out. Suddenly a potentially wasted night turned into a great evening of relationship-building.
One little girl who has never really been willing to speak to me before spontaneously started playing hide-and-seek with me in the kitchen last night (I'm not a natural at playing with young children, but I'm not using that as an excuse not to engage). That moment took a year of trust-building, seeing me on a daily basis, and seeing me interact with her parents before she decided I was okay. This isn't microwave cooking! But who knows what the payoff will be some day? We want to be friends rather than a strangers when it counts in her life.
Nertz--my wife's favorite card game--and appetizers aren't exactly prayer and bible study, but God is teaching me that times like these are more important spiritually than I thought for many years. Every time we get together we learn new things about each other. Opportunities to help each other always seem to pop up, like advice on car repairs or offers to dog sit while a family is on vacation. The seeds of community are planted, one finger food at a time.
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