Walking a Hole in the Wind
I walked to talk, and talked to feel—God met me in both.
I am preaching again today. These are country homes close enough to walk, but large curb-less yards mean for long streets.
A huge, shaggy white Great Pyrenees barks at me from the shade of a very large paddock. He wants me to know he’s there, but can’t be bothered to get out into the heat of the sun.
This is the kind of place for this creature. Plenty of room to roam and run and explore. Though I’m sure the dog would prefer cooler weather. This is probably true of most living things here.
I only had time this morning for half a workout, so am happy to walk. My compatriots, all well north of sixty roll their eyes at my willingness to inconvenience myself.
I argue rolling stones and moss.
One man I meet expresses real concern over abandoned children. Thought a phone call cuts out conversation short, he asks that I spend some of my time visiting the local orphanage.
He closes the door before I can explain i do not know there is a local orphanage. That the archaic word conjures images of Oliver Twist and the artful dodger.
Wandering down a long driveway and following signs around a modest home, I find a kennel where I meet a man named Bill who goes by Kenny. He runs a kennel and grooming service. I am disappointed he does not deal with cats. I am still looking for a groomer willing to deal with the creature I tolerate.
He is a 30 year veteran choir director for a large impressive Baptist church. I joke with him that ‘no one is perfect’. We have a laugh. I tap him for tips on assembling an informal group of friends to perform our own choir. Kenny recommends we know how to read music or at least that we have ONE person who can.
We connect when he tells me his wife of 37 years was killed by cancer 3 years earlier. My new superpower is knowing what questions to ask to show genuine concern. They are the questions I want to answer about my own loss:
How long was she sick?
How long were you together?
What do you miss the most?
What was her name?
This is all the priming he needs to know I am willing to let him open up.
I learn that Pam was a wonderful mother and grandmother. How they bought the kennel together thirty years ago and their life was caring for animals together and crafting a loving family. That she fought cancer twice over twelve years. That the chemo was most as bad as the cancer. Kenny regrets not letting her know how much she meant to him. That he took her for granted. That she was the fabric of his happiness.
We both cry a little. He offers his experience on loss (patience and movement) and expresses that it was the hardest thing he’s ever confronted.
I can feel his loss—this is real empathy. I think of my own losses and how devastating just the IDEA of losing a life-partner is. I think I don’t have the constitution to face it if needed.
I offer to show him the Bible’s hope but he is confident he already has the answer. This is fine. I am happy to have had the half an hour of conversation. My goal is to talk to people. I am very good at it. I have a need to do so and even when it’s very personal it makes me immensely happy to have the chance. I thank Kenny for his friendliness and hope we can meet again.
Turning a few blocks on foot alone gives me time to regain my composure from a re-tenderized heart.
Forty-five minutes later as gospel music pours out of an open window, I meet a second man, Justin, who is only two years in on losing his wife of a decade in childbirth with their third baby.
I feel like I’ve won the emotional lottery this morning.
Justin expresses how dark his life had become on January 31st of this year, the anniversary of their death. Determined to turn matters around not just for himself but his two daughters, he opened himself up to spiritual things. He says it changed everything.
He is bright and alive as he speaks about God and his hope in Jesus. I get to share with him the Bible’s hope that he can see his wife and child here on earth in the future. He admits this is a novel idea to him, one that excites him a little. But he lets me know he isn’t looking for a shift in religious affiliation.
As with Kenny, I am happy to have had the conversation and he welcomes me back in the future. A second win.
I have come now to collect lunch. I order a fancy baked potato from a local restaurant managed by one of my neighbors. We don't hang out, but we are both always friendly with one another. He asks to borrow my sump-pump, something he always does after a lot of rain. His storm shelter always fills up with water so he has to pump it dry a few times a year. I don't mind, I only bought it to empty my pool, which is rare.
To say thank you, he buys our lunch. Thank you, neighbor!
I’m sitting now in the busy restaurant parking lot as the rush of lunch-time traffic jockey's for parking spots. Across the very hectic street a man walks barefoot. His hair is matted into unwanted dreadlocks. The man’s clothes are filthy and ragged. He is a regular fixture here in this part of town. We see him every week walking without shoes heat or cold muttering to himself.
Where does he live? Who cares for him? What does he eat?
Answers will only salve my curiosity, not help this man.
This vagrant, Justin, and Kenny all remind me of how DESPERATELY we need God’s Kingdom. Man is foolish and powerless to solve these intractable issues.
Humanity marches toward the long house of our fathers. Some few refuse to accept matters as they are. Those souls living the change they wish to see—against every desire and wind and whisper, they struggle to do right and good.
Pray for them, they most certainly do so for you.
#essay #confession #journal #preaching
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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.
Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!
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