From A Distance
From a distance, San Diego's lights glistened like diamonds on velvet. Most evenings I sat on my porch overlooking the city and watched them erupt to life. By the time the sun set behind the horizon, the sky above the silhouetted buildings glowed with the warmth of ten thousand lights.
But when I drove through the city on business, the diamonds lost their sparkle. Velvet turned to burlap. The warmth chilled.
Along north Broadway, men and women in evening attire strolled the streets, holding hands, window shopping. Others rested at curbside restaurants sipping espresso. A little south, though, things changed. Men and women in tattered clothing carried plastic shopping bags and rummaged through trash bins.
One night I parked my car and stepped onto the sidewalk, moving closer than usual to the invisible residents of Downtown . . . the people I often stepped around or avoided altogether. Like Randy, an alcoholic slumped against the graffiti-marred brick wall outside an adult video store. As I squatted beside him I noticed a styrofoam cup at his feet. Next to it, on a torn piece of cardboard, he had scrawled, "Thank you." I counted 50 or 60 cents in pennies, nickels and dimes at the bottom.
Randy is not a stranger to those who linger outside the row of liquor stores, thrift shops and century-old hotels. He told me he sets himself there every day -- from 8 AM until after dark. Except when it rains. He stays in his room across the street when it rains, watching television and drinking cheap whiskey.
"Not many people on the streets when it’s wet," he avoided my eyes as he spoke. "No sense gettin' soaked for a couple o'dollars."
I tried to start a conversation about spiritual things, but he waved me off.
"I know what you're tryin' to do." This time he looked at me. "Tryin’ to help me. But I'm doin' fine."
I’ve thought about Randy many nights since then as I sat on my porch, staring across Mission Bay toward the skyline. As I did, my thoughts drifted closer to home.
I don’t like to admit it, but San Diego's lights illustrate my life. From a distance, I also sparkle. Ask anyone who works with me or attends the same church. To them, I am well-educated, successful nurse-manager. I am a family man, author, teacher . . . a leader within my sphere of influence.
But closer in, the glitter barely covers the burlap. Ask those who live with me. My wife and children know the angry words, the hypocrisies (transient as I hope they are), the broken promises. They know the tattered clothing beneath the starched suit and tie.
Yet, even they don't know me the way God does. He steps close into my life and understands my secret thoughts. He knows each of my deeds and every word before it crosses my tongue (Psalm 139). Even the Randy within me is open before Him -- my inner-person who often convinces me that I am doing fine, while I am, in truth, "wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked" (Revelation 3:17).
But that's why I need Jesus -- a Lover who knows so well my arrogant boasts, my lustful stares, my prideful thoughts . . . yet loves me, nonetheless (1 John 4:10). I need a Lord who forgives every sin I bring before Him in repentance (1 John 1:9). I need Friend who never gives up on me, who continues His work in my heart, changing my burlap into glistening robes (Philippians 1:6). I need a Savior to rescue me from what would be the eternal consequences of my sins (John 3:16).
end
Rich
RNmaffeo@aol.com
But when I drove through the city on business, the diamonds lost their sparkle. Velvet turned to burlap. The warmth chilled.
Along north Broadway, men and women in evening attire strolled the streets, holding hands, window shopping. Others rested at curbside restaurants sipping espresso. A little south, though, things changed. Men and women in tattered clothing carried plastic shopping bags and rummaged through trash bins.
One night I parked my car and stepped onto the sidewalk, moving closer than usual to the invisible residents of Downtown . . . the people I often stepped around or avoided altogether. Like Randy, an alcoholic slumped against the graffiti-marred brick wall outside an adult video store. As I squatted beside him I noticed a styrofoam cup at his feet. Next to it, on a torn piece of cardboard, he had scrawled, "Thank you." I counted 50 or 60 cents in pennies, nickels and dimes at the bottom.
Randy is not a stranger to those who linger outside the row of liquor stores, thrift shops and century-old hotels. He told me he sets himself there every day -- from 8 AM until after dark. Except when it rains. He stays in his room across the street when it rains, watching television and drinking cheap whiskey.
"Not many people on the streets when it’s wet," he avoided my eyes as he spoke. "No sense gettin' soaked for a couple o'dollars."
I tried to start a conversation about spiritual things, but he waved me off.
"I know what you're tryin' to do." This time he looked at me. "Tryin’ to help me. But I'm doin' fine."
I’ve thought about Randy many nights since then as I sat on my porch, staring across Mission Bay toward the skyline. As I did, my thoughts drifted closer to home.
I don’t like to admit it, but San Diego's lights illustrate my life. From a distance, I also sparkle. Ask anyone who works with me or attends the same church. To them, I am well-educated, successful nurse-manager. I am a family man, author, teacher . . . a leader within my sphere of influence.
But closer in, the glitter barely covers the burlap. Ask those who live with me. My wife and children know the angry words, the hypocrisies (transient as I hope they are), the broken promises. They know the tattered clothing beneath the starched suit and tie.
Yet, even they don't know me the way God does. He steps close into my life and understands my secret thoughts. He knows each of my deeds and every word before it crosses my tongue (Psalm 139). Even the Randy within me is open before Him -- my inner-person who often convinces me that I am doing fine, while I am, in truth, "wretched and miserable and poor and blind and naked" (Revelation 3:17).
But that's why I need Jesus -- a Lover who knows so well my arrogant boasts, my lustful stares, my prideful thoughts . . . yet loves me, nonetheless (1 John 4:10). I need a Lord who forgives every sin I bring before Him in repentance (1 John 1:9). I need Friend who never gives up on me, who continues His work in my heart, changing my burlap into glistening robes (Philippians 1:6). I need a Savior to rescue me from what would be the eternal consequences of my sins (John 3:16).
end
Rich
RNmaffeo@aol.com
posted by rich at
9:55 AM
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