Your Path: When Faith Walks Across Your Path
Last year, a few days before we were set to pile our family in the car and move our lives across the country, I had one of these mad-dash-run-all-the-errands Mom days. One where every minute counts to get it all done.
I know you know these kinds of days.
Better yet, the kids were at school, so I was alone. There’s some time warp that happens when you don’t have any kids with you that allows you to do more errands than physically possible. It’s magic.
One of my many errands was dropping off money for my daughter at our church. We are big on teaching generosity, and she had $11 that she insisted on giving to our church. (She’s a bigger church fan than I ever was as a child.)
My plan was to just pull up in front of the church, run in, and drop her $10 bill and 4 quarters into the offering box. Then I would run out, get back in the car, and be on to the next errand – lickety split. A 2-minute task, at most.
So I pulled up to church and…the dang door was locked. Uuuuuugh.
But there were cars in the parking lot. No worries. I would just text my friend on staff at the church, have her pop open the door for me, run in, put the money in box – done. Maybe a 3-minute task now.
I lean against my car on the curb, text my friend who I know is inside the building…and wait.
And wait.
Staring at my phone for a response.
I’m dying inside. Because I have things to do! This was not in my plan!
Growing more irritated, I look up from my phone to see a man walking toward me on the sidewalk. He appears to be a disheveled homeless man…not passing judgment, that just how it appeared to me. To make matters more interesting, this apparent homeless man walking ever closer to me was carrying – are you ready? – a 2-foot statue of the Virgin Mary.
Seriously? (Which is my common response to when God shows up in my life.)
Seriously.
Let me give you some context here. Our old church is tucked on the edge of a upper-middle class suburban neighborhood; one where walking isn’t common unless you’re a kid on the way to the school bus. In a suburb which never appeared to have any population of homelessness until that very moment.
But here he was.
A man and his Mary.
Me and my daughter’s envelope with $11 in it.
Now, I don’t think we should ever ignore the impoverished and marginalized. But my opinion is that if you ignore the impoverished and marginalized on the curb of your church, that’s extra bad.
So, as he and Mary are getting closer, I turn my head up from my phone, look him right in the eyes, and simply say “Good morning” and smile. He immediately returned the smile and nodded his head in agreement. He then stretched out his hand to shake mine, and I returned the gesture.
His firm, dirty hand took mine, then he looked at me and said “Como estas?”, to which I was eternally grateful for 5 years of junior high / high school Spanish and responded “Bien, y tu?” (Good, and you? Nailed it!). And he smiled bigger when I responded in Spanish. But what happened next gave me the bigger smile.
While still holding my hand in his, he looked me square in the eyes and said “Me llamo Arturo. Amigos?” (My name is Arturo. Friends?) To which I, of course, responded “Si, Amigos.” (Yes, friends.)
And then he simply smiled, let go of my hand, and walked away across our church parking lot…still clutching Mary.
Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like having a homeless man ask if you’re friends, while he’s holding a giant statue of the Virgin Mary, on the curb of a church…MIGHT be a sign from God. At the very least, it’s weird. And for me, usually “weird” turns out to be God.
I looked down at my phone, which was right next to my daughter’s $11, to see if my friend had texted back. She hadn’t. I looked up at Arturo walking away.
I was supposed to give him the $11, wasn’t I?
I looked at my phone, again, desperate for the text message that would let me into the church and avoid the awkward thing I knew I was about to do. No text. I looked over my shoulder to find Arturo. He was already across the parking lot, walking down the street. I was too far to run after him. Plus, you can’t just run after a man you assume is homeless and give him money. That’s…weird.
But, alas, I jumped in my car and sped down the street. I caught up with him at a stop sign and threw the car in park. I jumped out of the car, walked toward him, and said “Arturo, necesito dinero?” (If you did better at Spanish than I did in 5 years, you’re well aware that I just asked Arturo if I needed money, but I think he got the point). He nodded and smiled as I ripped open my daughter’s envelope and poured the money into his hand.
Saying nothing more, I ran back to my car that I had left in the middle of the street. And as I drove away, I rolled down my window and yelled “Adios Arturo!”, to which he replied “AMIGOS!”
I know you’re thinking – aw, cute, that’s a really obnoxiously touching story about giving money to those in need.
No.
Wrong.
I highly doubt $11 changed Arturo’s life that day.
What it’s actually about is being so committed to the plan you’ve created for yourself that you’re at risk of missing what God has put right in front of you. Which might not be part of YOUR plan.
I’ve said this before. I’m a planner. And not just a little planner. The sun rises and falls on plans I’ve made for me and my family. In my mind, if I can control the plan, then I can control the outcome. And if I can control the outcome, everything will be okay.
But there’s a bigger plan that we don’t control.
Do I believe God timed Arturo walking in front of me when I was waiting outside of our church?
For sure.
Do I believe it was a lesson in giving money to those in need?
Not at all.
I truly believe, for me, it was a reminder that it’s okay to veer off the plan that I’ve made for myself and to follow God’s plan for me when He drops it right in front of me. Because, too often, I’ve rejected God’s nudges because they didn’t fit on my path. Arturo was a reminder to look up from what I’m doing to see where God is trying to lead me.
And I’d like to think that Arturo had a little extra hope in his day because some weird suburbanite mom in an SUV gave him $11. Because God has a plan for Arturo too.
…P.S. I was nervous to tell my daughter this story, since it was her money that she insisted went to our church. I told her the story, just as I have here, and before I could even get to the end, she asked me with wide eyes, “You gave Arturo the money, right?!?”
So, there is hope for the next generation.
Enjoy this post? Check out the rest of the “Your Path” series:
Your Path: Changing Your Career Path
Your Path: The Path Your Free Time Takes
Is Prince Harry the Ultimate Path-Changer?
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