Thursday, February 23, 2012

The Other Side

Life is not a bed of roses.  To quote a famous historian, "Life is like a box of chocolates.  You never know what you are gonna get."  This man truly had wisdom.  Anyway. 

I wish, as does everyone else, that life was more predictable and would go as we often want it to--smoothly.  No hassles or worries or troubles.  That is how God designed it (i.e. before Genesis 3:6-7), but mankind and sin changed everything. 

This next posting is written from the point of someone who is a born-again believer in Jesus Christ (me) and can be applied to all of us.  Why?  Because we all have been in this postition before.  However, the outcome may not be the same as mine.  I had put this off for some time now and the time is at hand that I write it out.

The story you are about to read is true.  The names have been changed to protect the innocent (or to cover up the fact that I dont know her name and I gave a fake one). 

This story takes place in a town much like yours.  There are neighborhoods with fenced in houses and yards (some well kept and some not), multi-car garages, kids running around and playing games, neighbors talking and laughter can be heard as well.  As with all other towns we to have our bad elements--crime.  This typifies my town, a town called Hazleton in the state of Pennsylvania.

On this particular day I was walking from my house carrying a bag.  Not just any bag---a backpak.
I had found some time in my day to goto the library and do research on a writing project I had just started.  It was a warm 50 degree day in the latter days of December.  Most unusual to say the least.
At this point my mind was on the classic video game "Frogger", and how best to navigate crossing the busy street without getting hit.  Unfortunately the drivers behind the wheels of these cars did not seem to share my quest for a long life span.  With every passing car it appeared as if the bumpers were shinier that normal and hungry to score points on the 'human object' foolishly trying to get to the other side.  (Still i have trouble understanding why the chicken wanted to cross the road?)

As i stood there ,trying to time my crossing the road between cars or my leap to death, I notice a lady sitting on a bench staring blankly into the unknown.  Carrie, I have come to call her,  seemed to be lost in  a hopeless existance.  That look is all to familiar to me.  I froze at her stare and no longer looked for the greener pasteurs of the other side of the street.  For the briefest of moments we glanced at one another and her eyes called to me for help.

--brief intermission-- Many people have said the eyes are the window to the soul, it's true.

Time and the people around us stood still.  Carrie and I were caught up in a vortex devoid of any existence but us.  The call and surge within was too great to ignore.  My response would determine an answer to her prayers or a continuance in her waiting for her prayers to be answered. 


Luke 10:30-32  echoes with great detail how i chose to deal with this encounter.  I was not the good samaritan.  There is no other way to say this but directly.  After crossing the street and being out of eyeshot of her, I literally bowed my head and screamed.  Is there a limit on shame and guilt and regret over not having the right thing?  Depends on the situation.  For me it was 'ungodly overload' because i chose to do the ungodly thing and go about my business.  Deep within I could almost see her bow her head and ask why?  Both to God and me.  Needless to say, I was totally disgusted with myself the rest of the day.  Do you blame me? 

Since that day I have seen Carrie on two seperate occassions and there was no spiritual leading to go talk to her.  Now the questions fill my mind.  Was that her last chance at salvation?  Was that my chance to share Jesus with her?  Will she want to seek God anymore?  Has she given up on ever finding hope?
There are more questions to ask but the surrealness of that moment and day will forever be with me, and I failed to do what the Lord requires of me. 
'Carrie' is not part of an enemy camp, or the relative of a neighbor with whom I am feuding, or an undesirable.  She is my neighbor, in the biblical sense of the word.  Strong's concordance defines it this way. A noun a neighbor, i.e. fellow (as man, countryman, Christian or friend).  As a believer in Christ I am to imbody all of these descriptions.  However, on that day I failed to do one the most basic of all  human traits acknowledge her. 

In closing, I pray that one day I can offer an amendment to this blog post give an update on 'Carrie', in favor of the MOST HIGH.