Unfinished Stories and Skywritten Messages

Living Story was founded because I believe that the stories of our lives aren’t just random occurrences but rather messages of grace from the God who created and loves us and continues to write his love into our lives.

Some days offer up unfinished stories, puzzling stories, stories that leave you wanting more. It’s like God is skywriting a message, and you’re watching little puffs of smoke forming letters but you can’t quite make them out yet.

An Unfinished Story about an Irreligious Corrections Officer

Yesterday was such a day for me. I’m going to tell you two stories that I do not completely understand. Two stories that don’t have endings. Two stories that look a lot like a jet letter fading fast into the cloudless blue sky. I hope they make you think about, even write, some of your own stories. And wonder about the God who is really and truly writing redemption stories in this world.

The officer had a round, tanned face. He held a paper plate loaded with large mounds of Sonny’s barbecued beef, a smaller round of coleslaw, and a slew of baked beans. As he placed 2 large Sam’s Club chocolate chunk cookies on a napkin, he looked at us and spoke quietly, almost shyly,

“I am not religious. But I want to thank you for the work you do. These people really need to know that there’s something…something… more.”

He turned to walk out of the small conference room where we had laid our small feast for the Work-Release Staff Appreciation lunch.

Before he got out the door, I managed to corral a few of the words flying around in my head, “Thank YOU for what you do. Your attitude …I’m sure…is a great support to …those you serve.”

Later, as my teammate and I were leaving, we revisited that story.

I spoke first. In my typically frustrated- I-wanta-fight way, I insisted, “But that’s ILLOGICAL!” I wanted to go out and grab him and sit him down and say, “But that doesn’t make sense. How can you want “religion” for the inmates, and not believe it’s important for yourself?” (I am assuming by “religion” he means something along the lines of “faith and hope in a being beyond.”)

My teammate had a kinder, gentler approach. She wanted to sit him down and ask, (I imagine in a firm motherly tone), “You clearly have such compassion for the inmates. Where do you suppose that compassion comes from?”

Either way. That’s it. That’s the end of the story. It is a conundrum. It is a puzzle. I may never know the answer.

Except, that’s not completely true. I may get to know it someday. Because last night when we returned to the facility to lead our weekly Bible study, we saw the officer again. He turned as he was walking down the hall and said, “Thank you again for the lunch.”

Still shaking my head. Still wondering what God is up to there. Still wanting to tell him what he said makes no sense.

There’s another story that I’d like to know more about. Perhaps it is connected, perhaps not. Well, it’s connected. If only in the sense that it occurred at the same place, this place that compels me these days.

An Unfinished Story about A Basically Selfish Woman and a Hungry Woman

My teammate had arrived way early for the evening Bible study. We sat chatting in my car outside the work-release facility. It was dark, and we knew we weren’t in the safest of surroundings, so when I noticed a figure standing outside my window, waving at me, I was startled at first.

I turned to see a petite woman of probably around 40, street dirt covering her well-worn jeans and t-shirt. I opened my door and stepped out of my car.

The first thing she said to me was, “Wow, you’re a – giant!” (I am only 5’9, but I was wearing my Dansko’s, and I did tower over this woman who stood probably around 5 feet).

I smiled at the observation, looked down at my shoes, and smiled, “Yeah, I guess I am kind of tall!”

An anxious look passed her face, and she quickly asked, “Can you help me?”

I am not sure why I said this, except that it kind of makes sense. I said, “Are you hungry?”

She answered eagerly, “YES. Food would be great.”

Honestly, I couldn’t believe my good fortune. Because I hate giving out money to street people who ask. AND because I had recently read a book by Brené Brown in which she wrote about keeping protein bars and Gatorade in her vehicle for such moments as these. About six months ago, I had stocked my car with both.

The Real Story

Now before you see me as the great white hero riding around town handing out Gatorade and Cliff bars to homeless people, you should know that I haven’t. Handed out any. When I pass by the sun-toasted woman who frequently stands with a cardboard sign at the Target exit, I never stop to hand her a Gatorade or a Cliff bar, EVEN. THOUGH. I HAVE THEM IN MY CAR.

And the real truth is that I drank all the Gatorades. I got thirsty this summer, so I drank them. And ate a few of the Cliff bars.

So last night, when the woman said food would be great, at first I did feel a bit like a hero as I raised the rear hatch of my car and pulled out a box with two Cliff bars in it. I handed it to her and she said thank you and walked on.

My teammate thought that was the coolest thing. But it was so little. And it was enough. I guess. I don’t know.

As we walked into the work-release center, I spied the woman across the four-lane road walking near the Waffle House. I kind of wished I could go over there and ask her if I could take her for a meal. I wanted to know who had done the gorgeous corn-rows in her hair.