Day 73: The shuttle bus

The thought of tipping the driver hadn’t occurred to me. But as I was sitting near the door of the shuttle bus that would take me to the New Orleans airport from the rental car shop, a passenger stuck his head in and handed the driver a couple of bucks. “Here you go sweetheart,” he said. He’d just gotten off the bus, coming from the airport.

I glanced around and saw the other guys there begin fishing for their wallets at about that time. So I did, too. There were about a half dozen of us, each calling out the airline we were flying as we approached the terminal. Mine was last.

“Last but not least,” she said as we pulled up in front of the Continental sign. She was a friendly lady, intent upon her work but willing to joke with her transportees. I stood and put some cash in her hand, and then said, pretty much spur of the moment, “Can I say a quick 10-second prayer for you?” I knew she probably wanted to hurry on, but I also knew she was a bit trapped. I’d just given her money, after all.

But she genuinely seemed to appreciate the offer and said that I could. It was indeed a 10-second prayer. “Thanks!” I said when I finished. And I hopped off the bus and walked into the airport.

Day 72: One arm

That was his defining feature and the thing that first caught my attention. His arm was gone from about the elbow on down. His wife was with him when they sat down at the table next to me. This was at a restaurant in the French Quarter of New Orleans. I got done with my job for the day and figured if I was going to find someone for this project today, I might as well do it in the heart of the city. Now this isn't something I naturally would be inclined to do. The French Quarter, home to Bourbon Street, isn't a place I normally would spend much time. A lot of people. A lot of traffic. A lot of activity. Not my speed.

But there I was. It was a hot day in Louisiana, and I ducked into the restaurant looking for a quick lunch. They really didn't serve lunch. It was more of a cafe serving coffee and beignets. A beignet, I discovered, is remarkably identical to a funnel cake, like what you can get at any carnival. But people were gobbling them up like they were delicacies. It was nearly entirely a tourist crowd there in the cafe, probably from all over the country and the world.

The one-armed man and his wife came and sat at a table next to me. "I'll take coffee, the strongest you've got," he told the waitress cheerfully, although she wasn't responding in kind. He got his coffee and his wife got a soda, and they sat silently watching people come and go. They were probably in their 60s. 

We got up at the same time to leave, so I turned to the man and greeted him. Then I asked if I could pray for them. They both paused at this and I looked at the man, waiting for a response. He put his hand on my shoulder and said that would be fine. When I told him I wanted to pray for them right there, he stepped immediately away. "Right now," he said, "we're going to go for a walk along the canal." It wasn't an invitation for me to join them, and he turned away from me. I glanced at his wife, still seated, as I was walking away, and she had puzzled look on her face, like she didn't really hear how the exchange ended. 

I just left, knowing her husband would fill her in. I prayed for them both as I walked back along Decatur Street to my car.

Day 71: The blank face

She either didn't hear me the first time I asked or was just dumbfounded by the question. She was the clerk at McDonald's, and she had just handed me my Big Mac and was moving away when I stopped her long enough to ask my question. The ensuing pause was long enough -- and her expression was blank enough -- that I was compelled to ask, "Did you hear me?" She sort of snapped out of it then and leaned in toward me, and I asked again if I could pray for her. A sly smile crept to her face and she eyed me. "Why?" she asked. I answered, "Because I just like to pray for at least one person every day, and you're it." She reluctantly agreed. So leaning toward her, I said a quiet prayer for her and her work that night.

Her smile was still there as I walked away. 

I met this woman in New Orleans, where I flew today to do some work. Her McDonald's was right across the street from my hotel. Now you would think that when flying, and spending time in three airports and around thousands of people, that there would be ample opportunities to engage people. And I'm sure that today there were some of those that I completely missed. But the opportunities today weren't obvious ones. On my first flight to Dallas, the plane was about half empty and there were two empty seats next to me. The second flight to New Orleans was more full than that, probably three-quarters loaded, but I again sat next to an empty seat.

Not necessarily a bad thing. Who doesn't want that, in their heart of hearts? But with that potential opportunity gone, I was left with stopping someone at the airport, which I didn't do. Nor did I when I rented a car, either from the friendly desk clerk or the ruthlessly efficient attendant who gave me the keys and pointed out all the dents. Nor did I when I checked into the hotel. So to McDonald's I went.

Another thing I noticed today is the reluctance that hit me when I thought about reaching out. I'm pretty comfortable in Old Town and willing to stop almost anybody if the opportunity presents itself -- usually. Getting into another community altogether makes me think twice. Courage out here certainly is at a premium. I don't imagine the people elsewhere in the United States are different than Wichitans when it comes to their faith. But this is their turf, not mine, and for some reason I'm very mindful of that. It's weird, I know, but it is what it is.

Day 70: Hauling

I saw him walking toward the store across the long expanse of the Walmart parking lot as I pulled in off the street. His semi-truck was parked on the far outskirts, its hazard lights blinking. I figured he wouldn’t be long, and he wasn’t.

A few minutes later, he came back out of the store, heading back for his truck carrying a plastic bag. I walked up to him and asked if I could ask him a question. He stopped and looked at me, but didn’t say anything. I took that as a yes. So I asked if I could pray for him. He smiled, revealing a huge wad of tobacco. “I guess,” he said, still smiling.

He was 40ish, wearing an orange public works shirt and a ballcap. I prayed for him there in the parking lot, that he would be safe and that God would bless him. He paused a moment longer after I finished my prayer, his head still bowed. Then we shook hands then and chatted for a few minutes. He no longer worked for public works, he said, pointing to his truck. He had just been home for the weekend and now was headed for Oklahoma City. I wished him well, and we parted.

Day 69: Big Red

He was wearing a Nebraska shirt. I’m not a huge fan, but a couple of my friends are. They’re nice people. They know the glory days are over, and while things look good now, they don’t let their heads get too big. After all, they know the glory days are over.

This Nebraska fan was standing beside his car, pumping gas. He was probably just out of college, a young, athletic-looking guy. After a bit of a hesitation, I stuck my head around the gas pump, noted Nebraska won today and asked if I could pray for him. He kind of chuckled and said I could. So I did.

Day 68: Stocking shelves

They really weren't shelves he was stocking. They were coolers. He was in Walmart, unpacking what looked like apple juice. We were the only ones in that particular aisle, and he greeted me as I walked up to him.

He met my question with a smile, kind of a questioning one. But he was a good sport, and allowed me to pray for him. His nametag identified him as James. He was a young guy, no more than 30. He had a mustache that for some reason I remember. I thanked him as I walked off.

It was a good end to a tough day, at least as far as this project goes. I've lacked confidence and boldness this week for some reason. I'm not sure why, after more than two months, that I seem to be taking steps backward in that department.

Here's some Scripture that I was pointed back to today by Mary: "For God has not given us a spirit of fear and timidity, but of power, love, and self-discipline. So never be ashamed to tell others about our Lord." 2 Timothy 1:7-8

Day 67: Hunting

It wasn't a big store and, really, was one I hadn't noticed until a few weeks ago, even though it's close to our house. It sells bow-hunting equipment.  It's in a small building and lacks stand-out signage, so you're not to be blamed if you just drive on by.

The parking lot was empty when I pulled in. And at first, I thought maybe the store was, too. Not a soul was in sight when I walked in and stood there, staring at the bows on the wall and the large deer mounts and antlers positioned around the room. "Anybody home?" I called.

A moment later, a short guy came around the corner. He was the owner. He was a friendly guy, in his 50s. I asked if I could pray for him. The question stopped him in his tracks. "Nnnnn," he said quietly (or something like that) as he considered the request. Not sure I heard him, I leaned toward him. "Was that a no?" He stumbled around a little bit more and then asked me, "Why?" So I explained that I liked to pray for at least one person a day, and I had noticed his shop.

He relented eventually, and I said a quick prayer. And then we talked. He had been laid off from Cessna but now was trying to follow his dream. It was difficult. Other stores could pour more money into their offerings, and bigger stores could sell products more cheaply than he could.

But he's been bow-hunting since he was a teenager. "I have faith and I have knowledge," he said. We both agreed those are good things. And I think we agreed a little more marketing -- and a bigger sign out front -- wouldn't hurt either.