Day 43: Two dimes

Today was a special day. But to give it some context, I have to tell you about my dimes. I've carried one with me every day during this project. It goes back to a time several months ago where I felt God pulling hard at me to help a woman whose car had stalled in the middle of a busy street downtown. I drove past her at first and then circled around the block to where she was stuck. At that point, I pulled a dime from my car, thinking I would stick it in the parking meter while I helped her. I took the dime, but I walked right past the meter.

I helped the woman out of the street -- and forgot about the dime. But the next day when I was getting dressed, it fell out of the pocket of the pants I had worn the day before. I never have money, so I stared at it there on the floor for a long time, wondering where it came from. And then I remembered. To me, it was God's reminder to me of what I'd done, and an encouragement to do more. So every day I carry a dime in my pocket, and as I search out people to talk to about God, I usually have it in my hand.

Today for some reason, I reached into my pocket and found two dimes. My thought then was, "Well, maybe I'll be talking to two people today." It was another one of those days where I worked hard in the office, only to find myself needing to go home, but also needing to witness in some way to somebody. So I started my route through Old Town, keeping my eyes open.

He was standing in front of the Hotel at Old Town -- fast becoming a familiar place to me -- and he was waiting for someone. It was clear he was a businessman. He was about 50 years old, balding and wearing sunglasses and business attire. I took the opportunity. "Sir," I said, "Can I ask you a question?" He said that I could. "Can I pray for you?" He took a little half step back and looked at me, both surprised and excited. "You're the second person who's asked me about Jesus!" he exclaimed. He proceeded to tell me that he was in Minnesota recently and a man had walked up and asked if he'd been "saved by Jesus Christ." The businessman said that he had been saved, but that he had strayed. So the man in Minnesota prayed for him.

And here I was. We both marveled there at it for a minute. I could tell this was a smart guy in front of me, just by the way he spoke and the confidence in his voice. He told me his uncles both were Baptist ministers, "so I always take time out for you guys," he said. I responded that God must be trying to get his attention. He didn't say anything to this, but he agreed to let me pray for him.

As we were standing there talking, and before I prayed, a younger man -- also in business wear -- walked up to us out of a nearby parking garage. I took him to be the businessman's escort in Wichita. And my new friend told him about this unusual turn of events. So when I prayed, I prayed for them both. Then we shook hands, and parted ways. The businessman was from Cincinnati. The younger man was from Kansas City.

As I walked away, I looked at the two dimes in my hand. Was it the two people? Or was it that I was second on the scene for this businessman? Maybe both. But what I do believe is that I was in the middle of God's activity today. I don't know what he has in store for that businessman, but I pray that he would wake up to the truth of God's calling and come back into a relationship with Him.

Day 42: The roustabout

It took a moment for me to figure out what exactly a roustabout was. But I now know -- and perhaps knew, back in my memory somewhere -- that it's a job in the oil fields. And this man whom I'd met had been most recently working in northern Alaska. His name was Jay, and I'd found him in the parking lot of a Walmart store. It was another one of those days, where I'd needed to complete my project for the day, and it was getting late.

I'd watched Jay pull into the parking lot with his camper. It really was just a camper-shell that went on the back of his pickup -- a beat-up old Dodge. And it was a piece of patch-work at that. The shell of the camper was aluminum, but it had a few pieces of insulation attached to it. He'd been in Alaska, after all. On the back were several American flags, a Wyoming license plate and a cross. So as I walked up to his truck, I figured I'd find a willing soul. And perhaps a bit of eccentricity.

I found both. Jay at first rolled down his window just a crack, probably figuring I was there to run him off or for some other not-so-good purpose. But when I told him I wanted to pray for him, he rolled his window down a bit farther. "I'm a Christian," he said. "You don't need to pray for me." And then he stopped almost mid-sentence and told me that, sure, I could pray for him and he would pray for me.

We had a long talk then. He was eager to discuss just about anything. He told me he'd been sick. He had a couple of spots on his lungs. Then he talked about his work as a welder in the oil fields. He really had wanted to get back to Indiana, and out of the cold climate of Alaska. He'd made good money there, $60 an hour for a company that was hard up for a welder, and he was their man. But his body was slowing down. He was almost 70, he explained. 

It was a rambling discussion, but he kept fingering a cross that was around his neck. And I noticed on the side of his truck a sticker that said, "clergy," that was faded by age and sun. There also were a couple of stickers indicating the U.S. Air Force.

At the end, he preferred I not pray for him in public. It really wasn't that public of a place, out in the desolate outskirts of a Walmart parking lot. But he said the Bible instructs us to do our praying behind closed doors. He showed me his own Bible, which was sitting right on top of a pile of stuff in the passenger seat. It was well-worn. I didn't argue with him. 

But I told him that later, I would pray for him and his health. He also wanted me to pray for his son, a doctor who wasn't saved. I gathered that the two weren't close. Jay, meanwhile, asked about me and my family. He said he would pray for us. After a bit, we shook hands and I left him. I went into Walmart then to gather up a few things, and when I emerged, his truck was nowhere to be seen.

Tonight, I prayed for both Jay and his son.

Day 41: The carny

It was raining as I was driving to our town’s Fall Festival, thinking about fulfilling my mission for the day. And as I drove, I thought how it would be harder while it was raining. And then another thought came – the carnival workers probably were standing around right now as most of their customers were getting out of the rain. That probably would be a good thing.

I was right on the latter. As I got close to the festivities, it started raining harder. And people were running every direction, but mostly to their cars to get out from under it. So I pulled into a spot as someone pulled out, and walked into the fair.

I immediately found what I was looking for, a carnival worker standing in a bit of shelter at the center of the ride he had been operating. It was called the Sizzler – one of those with several arms that attach to individual cars that spin as they rotate around in a circle. (I’d seen it earlier while we were with our family and called it the vomit machine. But I have no personal experience.)

I walked around the fenced area surrounding the ride and through the open gate. The worker didn’t mind me doing it. I walked right up to him, stepping up onto a little platform he was standing on. He was a clean-cut young guy, maybe 25. I asked if I could pray for him. He said yes. Actually it was a “yah.” This guy wasn’t from around here.

But he said I “absolutely” could pray for him. So I did. We talked a few minutes longer. Through his accent, he told me he originally was from South Africa but found his way here through a recruitment agency. Now he travels all over Kansas and Oklahoma working carnivals. But he had no reservations about my request. And he shook my hand later.

Day 40: 'That's awkward'

She was sitting in Old Town, clearly a student of some sort. She was maybe 20 years old and sitting against a building, probably waiting for someone. I stopped in front of her and asked if I could ask her a question. "OK," she said, clearly suspicious and moving her bag closer to her. "Can I pray for you?" She thought this was a very odd question. Her face said it all. "Why?" And then she added quickly: "I'm not homeless."

I thought that was funny. A good clarification, but not really necessary. "I don't think you are homeless," I said, as cheerfully as I could. "But I just like to pray for people, and I'd like to pray for you." She paused again at this. "Well, I guess that's OK," she said. So I told her I would pray for her right then, and she immediately reapplied the brakes. "No," she glanced around. "That's awkward." So I looked around, too. There wasn't a soul in sight. Not one person at that moment. And this was a Friday evening. "Look," I said, "I don't know you, and you don't know me. So why don't you just let me pray for you?" She hemmed and hawed then, and finally said, "No. I'm not comfortable with that."

This whole time she was very pleasant. But she was clearly put off guard, and she didn't quite know what to make of me. The request was very out of the blue for her. I think she knew I wasn't crazy -- at least I wasn't dressed like a crazy person and didn't talk like a crazy person. But she just couldn't bring herself to the point of letting someone pray for her in public. And she kept asking why I would want to do that for her.

So I pointed down the street. "OK, here's what I'm going to do: I'm going to walk down that street and back to the place that I work. And while I'm doing that, I'll say a prayer for you. It will just be between me and God. But it will be about you. OK?" She reluctantly agreed, even though she had no choice. And so I thanked her and left, smiling all the way back to the office.

Day 39: “I’ve got work to do!”

It was raining. It wasn’t a downpour, just a light rain, but it added a wrinkle to the project. I like to talk to people outside. It just feels more private than in a building where others more easily can be part of the conversation. But rain doesn’t help things. People don’t generally walk around in the rain.

I was standing at the door at work, trying to decide what to do and where to go. I just didn’t want to wind up at Walmart that night. That’s when a truck drove down slowly down the street. It was some kind of delivery truck, but it was open – like one of those trucks that picks up junk people don’t want. (I researched the company later and found it was a sign business.) The truck stopped just up the street and backed up to the loading dock of a nearby building.

So I walked up to the driver. I had to wait a few seconds while he backed in. It took him a couple of tries to get the truck positioned just right. When he hopped out of the cab and started walking toward the loading dock, I stopped him and asked if I could ask him a question.

“What is it?” he said. He was a guy of about average height, but heavyset – maybe 45 years old. He was wearing work clothes and dirty ball cap. “Can I pray for you?” I asked. He didn’t think about it long. There was an impatience to him, like maybe he was running late. It was after 5 p.m. after all. “No,” he said, “I’ve got work to do!” Then he turned away from me and stepped toward the loading dock. He started to throw his leg up on the dock to hoist himself up, but then thought better of it. So he turned and started walking back around the truck.

I asked him then if he was sure. It would only take about 10 seconds to pray for him. That’s not a long time. He never fully addressed me to my face again. He just turned and walked around to the other side of his truck. “No thanks!” he said. And then he was gone.

I just walked back down the street, the rain still coming down gently. It was a quick brush-off, and I wondered later whether he even would remember talking to me. So I prayed that he would.

Day 38: A little bulldog

He crossed the street in front of me, walking his little bulldog. He was a younger guy, about 25 – probably just out of college, likely living in an apartment in Old Town. Just as he was rounding a corner to go a different direction, I stopped to ask him my question.

He thought about it for a minute, and then said I could pray for him. He had a smile on his face, and his dog came up to check me out. I prayed for him, but I noticed he didn’t bow his head or close his eyes. Instead, his face still held that smile, and chuckle almost. It wasn’t a “yippee-this-guy’s-praying-for-me smile.” There was something condescending about it.

When I finished, he pointed to the sky and then tapped his chest. Then he tugged on the leash and pointed to his dog, “And that goes for you, too,” he told it. I laughed a little at that, and then we parted ways.

He was trying to be cool and to take the situation in stride. I understand that. But it was that smile he had during my prayer that bothered me. I had to fight off the urge to be angry. That’s a prideful thing, and it’s not my job. My job is just to follow the Great Commission and love others. I feel I did that.

Any discouragement I had was wiped away moments later as I was driving home. It was as if God set the radio on a schedule for me. I heard a brief devotional by the evangelist Luis Palau, talking about how Jesus told us to take up our cross and follow him into the world, spreading the Good News. His final scripture was this: “I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes.” Romans 1:16

We just need to keep sharing it, no matter how tough it may be.

Day 37: Hanging out in Wichita

He was wearing a Harley-Davidson shirt. He had a ponytail. He was about 40, and was a little round. I knew I should talk to him, but I walked by him at first -- around the corner of the building and then back. By then he was no longer texting on his phone. He was just standing there, outside the Hotel at Old Town.

“Can I ask you a question?” I asked. He said I could, and I asked if I could pray for him. The usual pause followed, this one perhaps a little longer than normal. I was about to clarify my question when his face brightened a little bit, and he said, “Sure!” It was as if he let go of his inhibitions and thought he’d play along with this game I must be playing.

So I prayed for him, that God would bless him and come near him. My new friend smiled and crossed himself when I was done. A Catholic. He thanked me, and I asked where he was from. Brooklyn, he said. We talked a few more seconds. He was just in town “to hang out.” Then he stuck out his hand, and I shook it.

When I walked away, two things came to my mind. I could imagine him sitting over a beer with his friends that night, saying “I had this weird experience today. Some guy just walked up to me on the street and prayed for me.” That, I was sure, would be followed by a commentary about the weird guy who pulled that stunt. That’s OK. But I trust – I have faith – that he won’t find God weird at all.

The second thought was this: This project now has reached people from six states – Kansas, Missouri, California, Arkansas, Georgia and New York.

Scripture: “So let’s not get tired of doing what is good. At just the right time we will reap a harvest of blessing if we don’t give up. Therefore, whenever we have the opportunity, we should do good to everyone – especially to those in the family of faith.” Galations 6:9-10 (NLT)