a surrender - 41

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six, "there are no heroes in the kingdom of God")

The weeks that followed were hectic and fun. I remember enjoying coffee and breakfast sandwiches, egg and Canadian bacon on fresh-baked biscuits, with our guests out on the front porch, warmed by the sun after a cold night. I remember not being able to hear while I was talking on the phone, because all the people at supper were laughing so loudly. I remember Heather playing a board game one evening with four boys in the dining room—and trying to keep the two-year-old from stealing the pieces—while the other guests ate popcorn and watched a movie in the living room. I remember a lunch guest happily firing up the grill out back to cook some steaks he had found somewhere. And I remember hearing a young woman crying with relief when she heard she could stay on our couch. She was trying to move away from an alcoholic husband, and four other places had turned her away. I remember watching Heather carefully sew a torn down-filled jacket so we could give it to one of the guests. I remember surprising a homeless couple by inviting them in to eat the pizza I had just made, when they knocked on the door as we were sitting down to supper. I remember hearing a guest offer to come back and volunteer when he and his wife move into their new apartment. He had already cooked for us, washed dishes, and scrubbed our porch, where he had been sleeping.

And I remember James. He sometimes slept in our back yard, and we would find his power wheelchair on the porch, plugged in. His legs were missing, just below the knees. We heard James had lost them after passing out on the train tracks one night. He had prosthetic legs that he could walk on, but they seemed uncomfortable to him as he lurched around. I saw him here often, helping out at the lunch meal, cleaning up and mopping. I remember him clearing the table while I ate. But he didn’t have his prosthetic legs on then. He was moving around the big table on his knees, taking people’s plates when they were done and wiping the place clean for the next person. Quietly, on his knees. 

Continued... 

a surrender - 40

(Continuing "a surrender", chapter six)

 

there are no heroes

in the kingdom of God  

Our new home was a homeless shelter. It was a big, old house, with the upstairs rooms available to women and children who needed a place to stay. Downstairs there was a big kitchen, where meals were prepared by volunteers, some who lived there, like us, and many others who came for a few hours each week. Lunch each day was served to whoever showed up at the house, usually a pretty big crowd. Breakfast and supper were just for the people living there, the women and children, and us resident volunteers. The idea was that people who came for help were welcomed into our home. We lived with the people we served.

When Heather and I arrived, the volunteers were still preparing to reopen the house after a month-long break. So we had a little time to settle in. Before we were ready, though, while we were still cleaning and making plans, there was a knock on the door. 

I opened the door, and met Richard and Cassie. They said they had nowhere to stay; a pastor had paid for a motel room for two nights but they had to leave this morning, and there was no room in the other shelters. I wasn’t sure what to say. Our house reopening was four days away, and even then we only accepted women and children. But then I had an idea. I discussed it with the other volunteers. Could Richard and Cassie both stay, just until the house opened, if I took responsibility for their needs? The others agreed, and I felt flushed with excitement. I was really helping someone. And so I started down a long, bumpy road with Richard and Cassie.

Continued... 

a surrender - 39

(Continuing "a surrender," chapter five, "who are my mother and my brothers?")

I didn’t think I would ever have a family of my own. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was just that I didn’t think anyone would want to marry me. I had nothing, and thought I would probably always have nothing. And my life seemed so unstable and uncertain, I just couldn’t imagine any woman wanting to start a family in those circumstances. So I just accepted that. And I enjoyed my relationships with people in the community, including my new friendship with Heather. I felt like we were in God’s family together.

In the weeks that followed, there were more long talks with Heather. One evening, we came back to the house after a walk together, just in time for supper. But as we climbed the steps to the big porch, we were so deeply engaged that we just kept talking. I noticed through the window that the meal was starting, but still we talked. Occasionally someone from the table peered questioningly at us. By the time I finally said goodbye to her and came into the house, supper was over. 

Heather wasn’t put off by my life choices, not even the walking. She had actually imagined doing something similar herself once, but had reluctantly decided against it because of the dangers for a woman traveling that way alone. She had a strong sense of the corrupting influence of wealth. She liked what Jesus said about money and power, like I did. And our long conversations about how Jesus lived didn’t leave her feeling scared or guilty, like they seemed to with most other people. They left her feeling refreshed and excited. They left me feeling the same way.

I remember the day she told me to keep her teacups. She liked to serve tea to friends, and had a simple but elegant tea set, hand-painted with blue dragonflies. One day, after sharing tea in my tiny room, the only single room in the house, she left two of her tea cups behind. The next day, when I asked her if I should bring them to her, she said no, I could hold onto them. “I’m sure we’ll be having tea again soon,” she said.

And I remember kissing her, on a wooden bench in the corner of a small city park in the spring. With a tree for our canopy, filled with tender blossoms, occasionally casting their soft, pink petals into our laps.

Soon we were wondering if there was a way we could have a life together, and a family. We didn’t know if it was possible, but we wanted to try to find a way.

And we wanted to try to make a difference in the world. We were young and eager to confront the wrongs we saw around us in society. Wasn’t that what Jesus did? We thought his followers should do the same. I remember during that time copying down a quote by Leon Bloy: “Any Christian who is not a hero is a pig.”

So we left the community and set out to be heroes.

Continued...