A poetic reflection by Johnny Levy
Here's a beautiful story.
I was at a business conference in Denver. My hotel was about 2 miles from the conference venue.
For a variety of reasons, I was feeling very insecure and fearful about going to this conference each day. I was feeling the pressure of selling, making sure I talked with the right people. I was dealing with some painful comparison in which I was coming up lacking. And this was triggering strong feelings of insufficiency and fear and despair.
And so I reckoned with God about all my fears and insecurities, right in in the deserted hotel lobby in the early morning before the light.
And at the bottom, I found my Belovedness. I found the voice of God. And God told me to stop striving and worrying, and "Just pay attention to who I send you."
I asked him for more strategy. And he said, "Pay attention to who I send to you."
This process took a long time, and I started running late. So I jumped on a scooter to take the 15-minute ride to the venue.
At first I couldn't get the scooter to work, and it was making me so mad. But I finally got on my way, determined to follow the voice and pay attention.
About halfway to the venue, I came to an intersection. At the intersection was a man in a wheelchair, thin, and distorted in limb and neck, with palsy. He seemed to be stuck, and he called to me.
But I was running late. But I was also paying attention. So I stopped. I put my scooter on pause and leaned it against the stoplight, hoping to quickly help him and be on my way.
His voice was high, and rapid, and hard to understand. He also had a thick accent. I finally deduced that his chair had broken, and he needed a push. But it was an electric chair, and therefore it was locked into the gears.
I kept fiddling with switches and trying to push, but the chair wouldn't move. Late, late, late.
After minutes of him explaining, And pointing nowhere in particular with his thin, gnarled hand, and re-explaining, in birdlike chirps:
"No, just flip the switch. Can't you see it? No, the switch. Just flip the switch."
He said it like “Duh. The switch."
I found the right switch on either side, one for each wheel. I clicked them in place.
I pushed, and the chair finally moved. But only a little, because it was extremely heavy. I bowed my back and levered myself, bringing my face close to the back of his neck, taking in the deep homeless funk, with the depth and layering of a good pho, but in a stank way.
And my heart favored this wisp of a man, with his black hair and his stuttering, and his pale skin, and his absolute helplessness. How long had he been sitting at that corner? How long would he have sat there?
We crossed the first street. He wanted me to turn right and cross again.
"How far are we going?" I asked. He pointed vaguely left and right and forward with his withered hand.
"Right there, right there, just a little ways." I obeyed, thinking he must mean we were very close. I was late. And quite unsure what I had gotten myself into. And my heart loved him.
And I felt the cyclical urge to wash my hands, and not get his dirt on my business clothes.
We crossed the second street, with me breathing heavily. We got to the place that I thought he had been pointing at.
"OK, is this it?"
"No, no, just right up there. He pointed vaguely. And that was when I knew I had been had. I had no idea where we were going, except a little further.
Each time we got a little further, it was a little further. I had pieced together that he needed a place to plug in his wheelchair and charge it. But I had no idea what kind of place was going to let him do that. Probably a mission or a charity, but I couldn't be sure.
I felt a couple of different competing feelings. Was he leading me someplace where his friends were going to jump out, beat me up and mug me?
What was my limit? I was already late. When was it time to cut bait and walk away? And was I just going to deposit him at a different corner and say goodbye?
I looked into my heart, and there was an unexpected smile there. This fisherman had hooked a good Samaritan, and wasn't going to let me off easy. And what else did he have but his vagueness? His chirping, his constant promise of just a little further?
And of course this was the case. How could a man like this survive in the world, without receiving the kindness of strangers, without challenging the limits of their hospitality? For his need was very great.
And I could have wept for him. And I smiled, because in this helpless wisp of a man was a kind of craftiness. And there was something beautiful about it.
And so I huffed, and pushed, and asked how far, and how much longer, and asked the name of the place, and let him know I needed to go soon, because I was late, and tried to get him to be specific, which he constantly sidestepped, whether by feigned or real ignorance or inability to communicate it.
We came to a place that he seemed to think was the place. But the doors were locked. I couldn't tell if the place was a bank or a charity house. It had bright overhead fluorescent lights and a linoleum floor. He told me to press the handicapped button for the doors. Nothing happened.
"Is this it? Should I just leave you here?" I asked, smelling my escape. He waved that hand up towards the end of the block.
Just a little further. Right there, right there, right up there.
My soul was laughing at this point. I could barely contain it. I shook my head and smiled.
I knew in my heart this was exactly where I was supposed to be, and this was exactly what I was supposed to be doing. And yes, I was getting later and later. And yes, that was finally OK.
My heart was so full, pushing Chris. His name was Chris. And it occurs to me now that Chris is short for Christopher, and Christopher means "Christ Bearer."
One who bears, or carries, Christ.
Was I Christopher? I laughed and savored the fullness in my soul. And breathed hard, and pushed, and sweated inside my crisp business clothes.
The withered hand waved me left. Right there, right there.
OK, Chris. If you say so.
I began to see homeless people milling about. We passed a black man in a wheelchair, who nodded his greeting.
And suddenly we were standing in front of a security guard and a program director, standing outside the doors of a lobby full of homeless people, sitting in chairs like you see in the DMV.
Sitting, talking, sad, blank-faced. The guard and director welcomed us, but gave no instruction. So I just pushed Chris through the doors and between the rows of disinterested, dirty faces and garbage bags and tattered clothes and tattered faces.
We came to a stop towards the far wall.
"Is this it?" Chris gave mild chirps and gestures to the affirmative.
And seemed to move on with his day.
There was no fanfare. I thought about hugging him, but thought better of it in the moment.
I kind of wish I had hugged him. Gotten past the smell and the fear of smudging my nice business clothes. But I didn't.
I milled in a circle for a second. No applause? Nope. But my heart was still full and smiling. I could feel my Father smiling.
So I walked away, between the rows, feeling the honor of being a human among humans in this place. Knowing I was In a place where business clothes rarely go. Feeling the sacredness of that. And also how tiny my little contribution was in the sea of all this need. This place.
This human way station. This place of seats, the beautiful hospitality of simply being a place where people with no place could simply be. I think it was called Saint Francis. A Catholic charity. And my heart loved the people who made this place. And tended this place. And unlocked it in the morning. And shut it down at night. And cleaned the filth. And endured the smells. And loved the humanity of these humans.
The security guy was a big Mexican guy in black, with a gentle smile. And I shook his hand and appreciated him. Told him I had left Chris by the wall, but didn't know what to do next.
The guard smiled and told me he would go in and make sure Chris got plugged in.
He said it in a, “Oh, that little rascal," kind of way.
And I walked back to my orange scooter, heart singing and laughing and weeping at turns.
And I knew it was going to be a very good day.
Because my life is simple.
My job is to walk with God, and to pay attention to the people that he brings to me.
And I did.
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