Month: November 2017

The Money Giver—Part I

I know a man in town who’s habit it is to carry in his wallet, money which he gives to those he meets that are in need. He rarely leaves his home without checking a special pocket in the back of his leather billfold to ensure that there is some assortment of ones, fives, tens and twenties available for those who ask.

When asked how he determines who is worthy of these special dispensations he will reply that anyone who asks him is worthy. It makes no difference their appearance, or circumstance, for who is he to judge another human being? If they are in need and he can help he sees this simply as his obligation, his opportunity, and, he would add, his benefit and blessing. “For what gift can we give that we don’t receive as much in return, to our own benefit, in the way of spiritual rewards: joy, peace, goodwill…”

It had been some time since he had crossed paths with anyone in need on the street corners or parking lot exits where one can typically be found, and he was feeling sorrow because of this, and a great need to find someone to help. So on this particular day he drove north to the Trader Joes parking lot where there is usually a man, or a woman or even a whole family waiting for someone to help them. Today he found a young man, bundled in blankets, sitting on the sidewalk in the rain, rocking back and forth and muttering unknown things to only himself. He was clutching in his hands a pipe and lighter and looking up at the sky. When the man approached him and offered him the money, he barely took notice but just continued rocking back and forth and staring into the distance. He wished the young man a peaceful day and hopes for a warm bed tonight, gave him the money, and returned to his truck.

As he told it to me later, while approaching the young man, he considered how much of his money to give him, and while he doesn’t withhold money from anyone in need, he also doesn’t want his contributions to be used by others to hurt themselves. This young man clearly looked like he could choose to use the money for drugs rather than food. Perhaps he should have bought the boy food instead, as he sometimes does, but in this case he thought it better to give eleven dollars, enough for a warm meal, but not so much that it could be too harmful should the child choose to go that route. He prayed that the young man would make a wise choice with the money he had been given.

I asked him if this was the end of his adventures for the day and he replied that no, in fact there was a second part of his calculation when deciding what to give the young man: how much to hold back to have ready to give to the next person he felt certain he would find that day. The next person would need quite a bit more, he believed, so he kept closer to eighty dollars ready in his wallet after leaving the young man.

“This is very generous,” I exclaimed.

“Don’t get the wrong impression. I am a selfish man,” he replied. “I really am, my wife has reminded me of this many times and it is true. For all the good you seem to think you see me doing here, there are plenty more occasions where I display complete disregard for anyone but myself. In fact, in truth, this is how I live most of my life. But hopefully I will change.”

He continued his story, “the next person I found a bit farther south, standing on the corner near Costco, holding a sign and clutching a crutch under each arm. His legs were badly deformed and he had trouble maneuvering in the rain, as his crutches slipped on the concrete.  As I approached him I could see he had a fighting spirit and also a gentle spirit. I was immediately impressed with him, and wanted to know more about him. I introduced myself and suggested he might have better luck up the street on the corner near the Seventy-Six gas station because there was a pull-out there where cars could get out of traffic and more easily give him money. He didn’t know the area well, and hadn’t stood asking for money in quite a while but he had sudden expenses and not enough for rent and he was in danger of losing his home. His roommate was too afraid to stand asking for money because of bad experiences with others yelling at him and throwing things at him in the past. But he didn’t mind these things, one just does what they have to do. I gave him the handful of money and he pocketed it gratefully.”

“What was the matter with his legs, did you ever find out?” I asked.

“Yes. He has cerebral palsy. His eyes are also very crossed and as he explained to me he has troubles with incontinence and therefore has to wear ‘Depends’ all the time.  And I must tell you when he confessed this I almost wept. He said it so plainly, without shame and also without any self-consciousness whatsoever. He might as well have been telling me what he had for breakfast. I can’t explain it but the simplicity of that humbled me tremendously and my admiration for him grew. ‘The body does what the body does, you just have to take care of it’ he said to me. I wish I could have conveyed the naturalness of this statement in the way he said it. It was truly tremendous, no artifice, no mannerism that would suggest any of the issues I might have were I the one needing the diapers. I’ve heard it said that humility is just being who we are honestly, naturally. I have rarely, if ever seen a clearer example of genuine humility and it was beautiful. He then commented that in fact he had used his diaper there and needed to find a bathroom soon where he could change it for a new pair and this is why, he explained, that he kept an extra pair of pants with him and additional ‘Depends’ in the bag he carried while he asked for money on the street corner.”

To Be Continued…

 

~FS

 

 

 

We’re anthropowhimsical,

humans are puzzles,

labyrinths and enigmas—

we’re homomercurial.

Who of us will find lasting peace while on the earth?

Or the deeper question is, I think:

will we the anthropocentric,

accept deification?

 

~FS

Dear Mom:

I’m so very sorry I have to say goodbye; that I have to let you go, and move on, myself, to wherever I am going.

You see, I couldn’t live, yearning for your flesh, hoping for your touch once more, to hold you, to give you a kiss.

When the sun sets, its warmth with it, dissolves into the deepening night, overcome by mists and dew. So too my knowledge of you, it seems, must fade into a deepening past.

When your body and blood transforms into memories, into beautiful stories of who you were while here with me, it allows me, though hollow now, to live again.

You’ve had to fade, though I didn’t want it, and I fought it, I promise you, but in the end, my life only solidifies now as yours dissolves.

But please know, that I love you just as much as I ever have, and am grateful to you for everything, and even now you are a gift to me; by taking your place in my past, you have given me my present.

With all the love I can muster,

your son,

Francis

           “I just finished the painting. It was so scary to begin. Before I had even

            squirted any of the paint out, I was paralyzed—I might waste some paint,

            and one of my canvasses—but it was more than the fear of wasting five

            dollars worth of materials; this would be an expression of me. It would be

            my best attempt at art. There is always this fear before beginning any

            creative process, the fear that it might not be good enough, that I might

            not be good enough; it is only a little harder now since I’m not working

            with all of my faculties. The funny thing is however, even though I couldn’t

            see the art I knew I would still automatically assume it wasn’t quite right.

            Sure I’d be excited to see it but, I knew I’d also be telling everyone how much

            better could do. All of this was automatic in me even before seeing the results.

            With this painting though I was paranoid knowing that my hands could never

            equal the grandeur of the visions created by my mind. But then I realized and

            accepted this fact, that a hand is not a mind, and it works within its own

            limitations. At this point I felt free to paint and have a good time regardless

            of the outcome.”

 

As I read this I think how all of our life is a creative process, not just specifically painting or writing etc, and how easy it is to be paralyzed with this same fear of not measuring up, of failing, so to speak, and how effective these fears are at keeping us from even beginning to know who we are, and then, from exploring and practicing our art; the art of our lives. There is a method I now use to combat these fears, which is very effective; it is using fear to combat fear. I use the knowledge and fear that I will die one day as a counter to the fear of failing. Each day I meditate on the fact that my time here in this life is very limited, I will die, and I don’t have the luxury of waiting to do whatever it is I want to accomplish. None of us are guaranteed tomorrow.  Somehow these thoughts give me clarity and are very encouraging, and motivating to my getting on with this creative process which is my life.

            “Later in the afternoon Tanya and Nicole were over and we played hide and

            seek in the backyard. Finding Nicole was easy as I was concentrating on the

            sounds she made as she hid. But finding Tanya was nearly impossible. I knew

            which part of the yard she was in because she let out a sound when I found

            Nicole, but finding her was very difficult. I kept hearing things that I was

            sure was her: up in the trees, next to the fence. But I couldn’t find her. After

            a long time she gave me a hint, a scratch on wood, and I was able to catch her.

 

            There is less than an hour now until I take the bandages off and I’m feeling

            kind of down. I almost don’t want to take them off. I’ve grown to like it dark.

            I don’t know why I would want to stay in this darkness but it has been new

            and I like the strange newness. It gets me out of a rut in a beautiful way. I

            don’t have to go out of town to do this, I can just cover my eyes and I am

            transported to another place; the most mundane things suddenly become

            important. It makes me really live this life, and not just drift through it.”

 

Blindness is like a break for the eyes, at least for someone only experimenting briefly with it as I was. Back in the late 1980s when I did the experiment we didn’t have the internet and smart phone, so now, even more so, our lives are extremely visually chaotic. Taking a break from all of that stimulation is a good idea.

            “What a drug sight can be; I just took the bandages off. I indulge in the visual

            now and almost fry my brain! Taking them off and seeing the sunset was some-

            thing I couldn’t have foreseen. It was more real and vivid and wonderful than

            anything I’ve ever seen. It was the ultimate in perception! I know that I won’t

            be able to aptly describe it on these pages but this is my best attempt. At first

            everything before me was blurred but only for a short time, and then I saw

            the tree against the background of the sky. Each small branch shimmered

            with its own life, an entity of its own. Deep, dark, blackness, so rich and deep

            like nothing I’ve seen before. Every twig, every limb, burnt savagely into the

            soft blue sky. And then the sun…the sun ducked down behind the trees and the

            bright halo arose from the dark mountain and filled the sky. It then began to

            shrink and as it shrunk it gained intensity until it burst and spurt brilliant

            light across the sky, across the valley, filling my vision with brilliance. What

            remained was a pastel yellow globe of light just above the horizon. To either

            side of the globe, just above the treeline, shot out a bright red line of light; it

            flickered and suddenly vanished. The blue and orange of the sky turned pas-

            tel. The air gained new life from the light of the sinking sun. A bird arose from

            the shimmering tree and shot past me. Then I turned to my left and saw the

            deepest, most crisp shades of purples and blues of the distant and not so dis-

            tant hills. And the hill I was on was pure also; it was green but it was also

            blue. It was both at the same time but it wasn’t confused or muddy; it was

            clarity. I had the feeling about my eyes as if the sights I was should be out of

            focus but all that I saw was crisper and richer than it had ever been. My eyes

            hurt but I kept looking. It struck be that everything I saw was alive and had

            just been born—the world was starting over, afresh! I then turned and looked

            behind me. There I saw my hill, the one I sit on all the time. The trees were

            black and green, all shades and hues, full and real; I was drunk with what

            I saw. Everything reached out and touched me, nothing stayed still, it all

            reached out to me: the purple hills, the dark green trees, my hill, the burnt

            black tree, the sky, and the light of the disappearing sun. All these reached

            out and stung my eyes. I turned to my right and there was a girl. She was

            so small it seemed but also so big. She was beautiful. Her eyes light blue,

            dark blue rimmed, and happy. She was so close but she also seemed very

            far away. I couldn’t touch her but I was glad she was there and I know I

            talked to her but I don’t know what I said, something about the beauty

            around us. This feeling didn’t go away as it seems it would, like so many ter-

            rific things do, but it stayed with me and surrounded me and caressed me

            for a long time. I saw in this way and I felt complete.”

  

Conclusion of My Experiment with Three Days of Blindness:

            “It was an overwhelming experience. I am so glad I got to ‘see’ it. I feel very

            lucky. Now I can see and I don’t know if I care. Sure I don’t run into walls

            or trucks anymore, and I think that’s a good thing, but I feel as if I’ve lost

            something important. I look at my painting and it looks so different than

            I had intended it. It is very beautiful to me. The colors aren’t exactly what

            I thought they would be but it’s a bubbly surprise. Now I reenter the com-

            plicated world of sight where it isn’t good enough to spend an hour making

            breakfast. Things like that are miniscule in this world. They don’t matter,

            they are the mundane, the ‘so what’ of this world. How could I justify

            spending an hour touching the canvas and the paint of my art? Just drink-

            ing in the texture and communing with the colors—realizing the import-

            ance, the relevance it has in my life. Sure, what I think about it is the most

            important thing, and if I think it is alright to do this than it is. Although,

            what other people think is important as well. For many, this isn’t a univer-

           sally acceptable way to spend one’s time. So it is therefore hard to feel

           entirely good about doing it. But while blind, all of these supposedly unim-

            portant things become and are important, meaningful and worthwhile.

            No-one can say otherwise and I feel content with this simplicity. Now I’m

            in the harried world of sight where we are stimulated by too many things.

            We must rush off to school or to work, I have work to get done, I must be

            in certain places at certain times, and there is television and newspapers

            and books to read, shows to see, and sports to enjoy. I think that there is

            too much to think about, too much stimulation. I’m not entirely glad to

            have my sight back. It means jumping back into this whirlwind that we’ve

            all been spinning around in so long. A whirlwind that’s got us dizzy and

            confused, and that stirs up the dust and leaves us with tears in our eyes.

            The tears of our souls crying to escape this tormenting tempest.

 

            I wonder if I’ll still have the vivid visions of the eagles and the beautiful

            pictures that my mind created during these past few days. I would hate to

            lose that.

 

            What satisfaction I felt from making my meals or making some cookies.

            It seems it would be the same, the feeling of fulfillment, if I had a plot of

            land somewhere and I could wake in the morning and build maybe a part

            of my home, maybe the bathroom today or a windmill for energy. What

            satisfaction that would be, and to plant the seeds that would sometime

            later be my food, and to write and paint and cook—how simple. How

            meaningless and wasteful…but it isn’t. It is simple and it is pure, and whole

            and unscattered, and unhurried, and easy to keep everything in front of

            me. Not confusing; just peaceful…

 

            It was a wonderful experiment and a great ‘vacationland’. Instead of

            travelling far away I travelled within and found a whole world of mir-

            aculous sights and breathtaking beauty—a land that reached farther

            than the eye can see, and that holds more to do than the greatest family

            amusement park. It is a land whose limits exceed infinity and whose

            treasures I’ve only just begun to dig up. This land of wonder is my mind.”

Humility is such a simple friend, sitting patiently, always at our side. He holds the key to our freedom and will open every door. When we’ve done wrong, he is there to ease the shame; tossing copious flower petals thick upon the ground, and softening the pain when we fall to our knees. He turns the abhorrent word, repentance, into a beautiful action that makes all things pure again. Some men, in their foolishness, imagine him to be a doormat, which others will wipe their shoes on, or trample across as they go about their business. But they don’t see, and can’t understand, that humility is the strength which gives us the power to face any challenge, find victory in any difficulty, and to soften any blow. Humility is an outstretched net, catching us softly when we fall from the heights of our pride. He is like a beautiful butterfly, with outstretched wings carrying us to safety from the depths of an abyss. And if we fall into an abyss, and find ourselves in despair, humility is also a ladder by which we climb up and out and back into the sunlight. Humility is an open door and such a simple, loving friend, always ready to help and loyal to the end.

~FS

It was getting dark as we finally pulled into the parking lot. In the van with me were a group of fifteen college students from Colorado State University who had come to Seattle for a week to work on a service project over their spring break.  They were excited to be here but were also tired from their flight, and ready to see where they were going to be staying for the coming week.

 

Their accommodations were on the second floor of the Mennonite church building in town.  The church is situated in an urban environment amidst low-rent apartment buildings, thrift stores and car dealerships. At night, it is probably safe, especially if you are in a group of fifteen, but it is still a good idea to keep an eye out for potential trouble.

 

This particular year I was working for the church, coordinating service programs. So it was my job to welcome this group, show them around, and be available if they needed anything.

 

We piled out of the van, loaded ourselves with duffle bags, suitcases, and sleeping bags and trekked across the parking lot to the church.

 

In my mind I was running through everything I needed to show them about the building; the location of the shower, the bathrooms, the kitchen, which door to enter through and which one to leave closed and locked…when I saw, coming out of this very same door, someone who shouldn’t have been.  In his arms he was carrying a microwave oven and stuffed poorly into his backpack was a portable stereo.

 

He glanced our way and then hustled quickly around the corner of the building with his new acquisitions.

 

It is a rare thing to catch someone in the act of stealing so my mind didn’t immediately register what I had just seen. Was he really stealing from us? I asked myself. Maybe I know him. He probably attends the church and I just didn’t recognize him in the fading light. I rationalized. But then, why did he scuttle off so quickly in the opposite direction after seeing us coming towards him?

 

I decided he was definitely a thief so I sprang into action. I quickly told the students that we were being robbed, handed them the keys to the building and told them to go inside and make themselves comfortable as I dashed off after the intruder.

 

I caught up with him not far down the street and confronted him. “What are you doing? Those are our things you are taking from the church.”

 

“No they aren’t,” he replied.

“Of course they are. I can tell you exactly where they came from. That microwave in your hands is out of the youth room, and the stereo is also.”

 

“They’re mine.”

 

“But I just saw you coming out of the door of the church.”

 

“No I didn’t.”

 

“I see those things everyday. I know you took them.”

 

As the conversation proceeds we continue to walk down the darkened street.

 

“Look”, he said as he turned to face me. “Do you want me to just smash this over your head?” He gestured to the microwave.

 

He looked menacingly at me and I took him at his word.

 

“No. I just want you to return them.”

 

He started walking again and I followed alongside. “Okay. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they are yours and it is just a crazy coincidence. Come back to the church with me and we’ll look at the location I think they belong. If the microwave and stereo are there then I apologize.”

 

“I’m not going back,” he snapped. “Just leave me alone.”

 

“I’m not going to leave you alone. You have our things.”

 

No reply. We walked a moment in silence. Who knows what he was thinking, but my mind was racing trying to come up with the key to unlock this situation. The line I was taking wasn’t working.

 

“What do you need?” I asked him.

 

“Money.”

 

“I understand…look,” I said, “I don’t want you to have to steal for it and you don’t want to steal either.”

 

He didn’t answer.

 

“I know you don’t want to steal. Not really.”

 

We walked a little further and he stopped. We were standing under a dim streetlight, at a corner where two roads met. I pulled out my wallet, opened it, and counted to myself what I had.

 

“I have forty dollars. You can have it.”

 

His expression changed, softening for a moment. Then he looked suspicious.

 

“Why would you give me that?”

 

I thought for a moment, and in that space of time, God gave me love for him.

 

“Because I love you. God loves you too. I don’t want you to have to steal.”

 

He looked at me for a moment, evaluating me in some way unknown to me. And then he asked, “If I didn’t give these things back would you still give me the money?”

 

That was a great question. I paused to think about it. The answer had to be yes or my ‘love’ was going to look pretty cheap. But the answer also had to be true because I was sure he would have seen right through me if it wasn’t. In any case I didn’t want to cheapen this brief relationship with a lie.

 

I imagined the possibility that I gave him the money and he kept the stolen property. I didn’t know how that would eventually turn out but I made myself okay with that chance and told him so.

 

He considered my response. I offered him the money, reaching out to him. He thought a bit further and then really surprised me with what he said next.

 

“Let me carry these things back for you.”

 

“Really!? I asked, “I can take the microwave for you.”

 

“No. I want to carry them all back for you.”

 

So he turned around and began walking back the way he had come, retracing his steps back to the door of the church. I turned and walked alongside him yet again. On the way back he began talking, and talking, and he didn’t stop talking for a long time.

 

“Nobody has ever loved me. No one says they love me. My dad never loved me. I can’t believe it, that you love me. I’m just passing through town. I don’t have a home and I don’t know anyone here. You know if someone just would have loved me. That was really cool. Thank you so much for the money. I really need it.”

 

“No problem.”

We stopped in view of the church and he looked at me. “Can I give you these now? I don’t want to go back there.”

 

“Sure.”

 

He handed the microwave to me and then took off his backpack and pulled the stereo out and placed it on top of the microwave in my arms.

 

“You’re welcome to come and join us while you are in town. I won’t tell anyone who did this so if you come in on Sunday no one will know you. It’ll be fine.”

 

“Thanks. I probably won’t be around.”

 

We exchanged a few more pleasantries and then he waved goodbye, turned and walked into the darkness.

 

I watched him go and then walked back to the church. I thought to myself, I’ve met several thieves in my life but I’ve never before met a thief that gave it all back.

 

I felt that God really taught us both a lot that evening. I was surprised to find the person that emerged when he was treated with kindness instead of anger. Though he acted despicably at first by stealing, he was treated with dignity, and in the end this allowed him to respond with dignity and with grace.

 

I praise God for teaching us the value of love, and the practical way that it can make a bad situation good.

 

~FS