Regarding Hitchhikers and A New Pair of Shoes

Running Late

I was running late for worship practice.  Just about the story of my life, since it was a forty-minute drive from my place of abode to the church, and I always felt like I could do it in much less time.  I floored the gas pedal and wove down a winding road, taking the turns at a far faster pace than was probably safe.

It was warm outside, well, at least relatively warm for the Land of the Midnight Sun in winter.  A path ran alongside the road, and as I wound around a bend, I saw a man on a snow machine going as fast as I was-- without a coat.

"What an idiot," I thought to myself.  Sure, it was warm, but it is not smart to snow machine in the winter at any temperature without a coat.  He had gloves and snow pants, but it was obviously too warm for him to wear anything to protect his vital core.  As I was making such a critical remark on his wardrobe choice, I glanced over at him and watched as his snow machine unexpectedly sputtered and died.  He gaped at me, and I gaped at him, and I saw that he was in trouble.  His expression showed that he knew he wasn't in too much trouble, since I saw him, and I would obviously help.  Right?

Wrong.  I was running late for worship practice.  I was already on the naughty list, or so I felt, for several things, and I sure did not want to disappoint the worship leaders.  We were, after all, doing something so very highly spiritual as preparing to lead people into the presence of God, and that was the top priority.  I will never forget the look on that man's face as I drove off, leaving him in the cold without a coat.

I was about half a mile away before the Holy Spirit convicted me of my actions.  How could I be so busy doing good things for God that I didn't care for the very core of His heart-- for people?  I felt the Lord say, "Forget being on time!  I would rather your compassion, a better act of worship than leading people into the presence of God with a man's life (possibly) on your hands!"

I turned around at the first place I could, nearly driving off the road at my speed.  I may not always hit the mark the first time, but when I feel conviction like that, I try to be the first to respond.  I booked it back to the place where the snow machine died, only to find the vehicle there,  but the man was not.  I spent who knows how long driving up and down the road, poking in the trees, looking for this man or his frozen body.  But he had simply vanished, and I hope to God that someone else had given him a ride, in warmth, to his house.  And you know what?  I was late, but so were the worship leaders.  It would have been alright, if I'd stopped and helped the man in the first place.

This instance weighed heavily on my mind the next several months.  I was in a place at church where people knew my spiritual history, respected my spiritual insight, thought I was an example.  And yet, I was so busy with all the good things, serving like crazy with worship, youth, and children's ministry, I "didn't have time" to help out a man who very well could have been Jesus.  As I examined my heart, my life, and my ministry, I knew that something was not right.  But even as we draw near to God, or strive to, God draws near to us, and He set me on an uncomfortable journey outside my comfort zone regarding hitchhikers and a new pair of shoes.

Things happened at my church with the leadership, and through many circumstances, I felt as if the Lord was saying it was my choice if I decided to seek a new church.  I had never left that church so long as I lived in this town (I'd been to others in college), and I had thought one day I would be one of the little old ladies who spread her wisdom on the younger generation at church.  But the Lord led me to a new church where there was life and opportunity... and challenge.

Running Late, Again

I wasn't on worship, they didn't know me yet, but I was trying to make the Sunday 11:15 am service and, as usual, was running late.  I was so tired, as for years I attended a Saturday night service and was used to staying up to 3 am running teenagers home from youth group and such.  It was awful hard to be up on a Sunday morning, but I didn't want to be late, so I floored it through the backcountry until I hit the local university campus on the outskirts of town.

A woman in a black hoody walked along the side of the road.  I immediately could tell from the posture of her shoulders that she was having a bad day, and when she looked up at me, I saw tears on her face.  I felt suddenly as if I was to stop and ask this lady if she needed a ride somewhere... but I was running late for church and plus, I couldn't help but notice her rainbow-coloured backpack.  It was like one of the primary-colored parachutes we played with in elementary school, and there was just something about the backpack.  What did she have, a gun?  A knife?  Were her tears fake?  I've had a knife pulled on me in a bad part of Minneapolis, and I've nearly been mugged there and several other big cities while traveling alone.  I was not in the mood for being mugged.  I just really wanted to go to church.

She gave me that look, the look the man on the snow machine had given me.  But I wasn't going to get mugged.  I turned my eyes onto the road, hardened my heart, and drove on.  I saw her posture slump in my rear-view mirror.  I thought about going back, but I didn't.

On a road near the church, where I was already five minutes late, God gave me a second chance.  It's amazing how He does that, with life and failed assignments.  There was a little Asian man in an expensive-looking suit walking determinedly down the road, toting way more luggage than himself.  He held a piece of lined paper in his hand, and glanced at it frequently, and then at his surroundings.  I knew that look, I've had it-- not having any connections in town, he was walking to his destination with all his baggage.  I've done that before, that back-breaking, excruciating walk, alone, without help, but you're too proud to be defeated and you're so stubborn, you're going to figure it out yourself.  It was as if the Lord was like, "Ok, so you won't pick up the shady lady who was crying, so maybe you'll pick up the harmless business man."  But you know what?  I was horrible.  I didn't.  I was five minutes late, and whenever I took him to wherever (the airport?  His hotel?), I'd be ever so much later.  I'd miss worship.  So I drove by, and he didn't even notice.

 I sang songs that morning with the weight of those people's problems on the back of my mind, that verse echoing through the back of my head, "Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me."  While I tried to enter in, I felt as if I'd missed the true worship the Lord wanted me to do unto Him, and I felt uncomfortable.  Then, the pastor got up to speak.  It got much worse.

His sermon was about going out of your way to help people.  He talked about how that is worship unto God, and how we can be a witness.  He charged the church with going out and being Jesus's hands and feet.  I shrank in my chair, and bowed my head.  The Lord had tested me, and I failed.  Miserably.

Almost On Time

I determined that moment that I would strive to be different.  I vowed the next hitchhiker I felt the Lord was telling me to pick up, I would pick up.  I laugh in recollection of this, because I had no idea the next person the Lord would have me pick up fit the profile of the stereotype of a murderer.  I mean, literally, imagine in your head what a white male serial killer ought to look like, and there was this young man, walking along the side of the road.

It was raining, hard.  Hard rain like that is unusual in the Land of the Midnight Sun, and I imagined anyone or anything walking out in the rain like that would drown, because the droplets were pelting sideways, like a smothering bed-comforter to the face.  

He carried two five gallon jugs, and on his back, he carried a heavy pack I could only assume was laden with water.  The tell-tale signs of a person living in a dry cabin (without running water).  He was walking up one of the steepest hills in town.  The rain was running off his face, and his eyes were shut against its stream running over his eyelids.  You had to be an absolutely horrible person to pass a creature you owned, or a serial killer, no less, and not stop and offer shelter from the elements, or a ride.  I felt the Holy Spirit stir within me, and with a prayer of, "I'll be home soon, Lord," I pulled over and stopped in front of him.

I was so concerned about being murdered, that I forgot to tell him my name.  Or ask his name.  Or ask where he was going.  He just got in, got situated, and I took off driving.  I'm surprised he didn't think he wasn't getting kidnapped or something.

For a serial-killer, he had the best manners out of anyone I've ever given a ride to.  He introduced himself as Daniel, and I tried not to stare at the tattoos that went the whole way up his neck.  He offered where he was going, and did his best to cover my seat so it didn't get water stains, as he was soaked completely through.  I asked him on a whim if he was a university student, and he said, yes, and explained that he was studying Family Studies.  I furrowed my brow.  Serial killer indeed.  

At any rate, we reached his destination, out in the middle of nowhere, me coping with the situation by prattling nonsense in a high-pitched voice.  The pastor had said you have to tell people why you're being nice to them or else they will think you're just that-- nice.  I reached this point where he was getting out, declaring my ride was the best thing that had happened to him all day.  The Holy Spirit prompted me to tell him God loved him, or God bless, or something, but I don't know why, it was just so hard.  Before I knew it, he'd gathered up his water jugs and had disappeared from sight, and I was trying to drive away as fast as I could so he couldn't get my license plate number for any future attempts at my life.  I kicked myself once away, though, as I had been obedient to the Lord, to a point, but not completely.

"Please, God, give me one more chance," I prayed.  I was going to get this right, this time.  But it wasn't a good number of months before I had the chance to nail it.  And, at last, I finally did, in a different city, with a pair of shoes.

Punctual

I went to the largest city in the state to take a big deal certification test, and there, I had to check out the local mall for a pair of shoes for work.  "Ankle booties", short boots that hit the afore-mentioned anatomy, were the thing, and my boss had been lifting her eyebrow at my worn out black shoes.  I found myself in a shoe store and selected a few pairs of ankle booties to try on.  There was a buy one, get one half off deal going on, but I only wanted one pair, so I was deciding between two styles while sitting on a bench when I heard a boy crying in the row behind me.

"Why can I not get these shoes, Dad?"

The father answered, kind but truthful.  "It's because we do not have any money, son.  You need to get these shoes for your gym class, but that's all we can get."

The son, disappointed, acknowledged his father's explanation.

I was really struck by their interaction, mostly because the child was not whiny or nagging, and I could tell the father was trying his best to get by.  He also answered out of love, which you sometimes don't hear in such situations.  It wasn't quite audible, but I did hear the voice of God tell me, very loudly, "Buy the shoes."

Now, this was a season in my life where money wasn't exactly over plentiful.  I'd just forked over $3000 for my certification class and test, and I was trying to save and pay off my university student loan, which was no small sum.  I was getting shoes so I could maintain the expected appearance at work to pay for it all.  But I've learned that whatever I have, no matter how large or small, it is the Lord's.  So I went around to their isle, introduced myself, and threw myself into a hasty explanation.

I think it was something like, "Hi!  I'm Joyce.  I love God and God loves me.  God also loves you and your son.  I feel like God is telling me I'm supposed to buy your son some shoes."  Maybe it was less eloquent...

The father looked at me, mouth open.  "No... No, I can't accept that."

"I mean it," I assured him.  "I believe this is what God is telling me to do."

He was still hesitant, but I finally convinced him I was serious.

He didn't understand why I would be doing such a thing, but I told him I felt like God wanted to show him and his son that He loved them.  And so I went and bought the shoes, and mine.  

By this time, the man had found his wife, and when I presented the shoes to the family, we were laughing and crying and group-hugged there in the isle of the shoe store.  It was probably one of the happiest, craziest moments of my life.  I wish I knew of a church in town I could have directed them to, but I felt God tell me He knew the journey they were on, and that He would arrange the next step.  I trusted that, said my good-byes, and walked out to my car in very high spirits.  It may have taken me four tries, but I was finally obedient to the Lord and loving the feeling.

At any rate, through the whole test, I felt like the Lord was teaching me new things about church, worship, and His heart.  Us active church folks can become so busy doing good things and running programs that we miss His heart, and the true worship He craves.  We can miss his true intent.  Sure, church-worship is amazing, and church programs are great, too, but true worship is so much more than music that happens within the four walls of the church.  It's blessing the heart of God by also serving and loving others, and telling them about Him.  I have by no means arrived, but I am excited to see what the Lord does next on this crazy God-journey I am on.