Day 66: Washing windows

He was washing the windows of his pickup truck while he was filling up with gas. I watched him move from one window to the next, to the next, to the next. He got them all at least once and was very meticulous about it. The pump had long since stopped by the time he came back around the truck to top it off. That's when I asked him my question.

He was an older guy, with white hair and wearing a t-shirt, jeans and flip-flops. I pictured him as a grown-up hippie. "Sure," he said, matter of fact, I could pray for him. And then he started to walk off. But I told him I wanted to pray for him right there. He paused for a second and then told me that, no, he wasn't going to stand there while I prayed. He does his praying himself, every day and every night. Then he walked into the Quik Trip.

It was a suitable enough answer for me, and one I'd heard before. I got into my car but waited there, jotting down some notes about him. I used to take notes after every time I talked to someone, not wanting to forget a single detail. But I hadn't done that in weeks. Here, however, I did.

I'm glad for it, because my new friend rather quickly came back out of the store and was standing beside my car, tapping on the window. I rolled it down. "Do you know where you find God?" he asked, not waiting for a reply. "You find God by going to the lake and turning everything off and just sitting there, watching the raccoons and the squirrels go by." He proceeded to tell me about the wonders of nature and how God could be found there.

I found myself nodding in agreement. I feel closest to God by observing his creation, too. The old hippie was telling me this with some fervor. It's something he said he did a lot, grabbing his fishing pole and putting a bobber on. Then just sitting there, letting the deer and other wildlife come to life around him.

It's a great message, I told him, something we should share with others. He said he's tried, but people tell him you have to go to church to find God. "But God's here," he said, placing a hand over his heart. "And He's in your mind, and He's all around you." Again I agreed.

We talked for several minutes there. He did most of the talking, and I did most of the listening. And then he was done, and we parted. So he was a man of faith, I decided. Perhaps not the fellowshipping kind that God calls us to be, but still one who had found a way to reach out to God.