"And Then I Found Five Dollars"

Since I've been home, I've told a lot of stories around our dinner table. When I finally pause to breathe at the end of each story, Christina has looked at me and said, "And then did you find five dollars?"

Every time she's said it, I've boiled with anger and frustration.  The desire to rip off her head has increased with every smart alec comment that could be translated to, "That pointless story was a waste of my time."

I think that may be why Max Lucado's A Love Worth Giving has resonated so well with me, the queen of pointless stories.

In the chapter "Your Kindness Quotient," Max talks about Christ wanting to hear your story.  The example used is the woman with the bleeding problem whose story is found sandwiched in Mark 5. 

Basically she's been sick for years and years.  She was out of money, and everyone told her to be out of hope.  But she wasn't.  She had the faith to believe Jesus could heal her, so she went to find Him.

Of course, He was busy.  The daughter of a city leader (Jairus) was dying, and Jesus was on His way to perform a miraculous healing.  This woman didn't want to take up Jesus's time, so she slid behind Him in the crowd and touched the hem of His robe. 

Instantly she was healed and ready to go on her way.  Jesus wasn't going to let her get off that easily.

"Who touched me?"  He demanded.

Can you imagine the disciples' response?  "We're in the middle of a crowd and You wonder who touched You?  A million people!  That guy there, this woman over here, but I was the one who stepped on Your foot.  Sorry.  Come on; let's go!"

Christ was adamant, and the woman timidly came forward.  If it was me, I'd be ashamed of the ruckus I'd caused.  Maybe she was, but she was also healed.

Max writes, "A girl was dying, people were pressing, the disciples were questioning, but Jesus... Jesus was listening.  Listening to the whole story.  He didn't have to.  The healing would have been enough.  Enough for her.  Enough for the crowd.  But not enough for Him.  Jesus wanted to do more than heal her body.  He wanted to hear her story--all of it.  The whole story" (26).

It blows my mind that we have a Savior who is willing to hear every story we tell.  He's not even disappointed when they're long and pointless.  He'll never ask if we found five dollars.  If the story is important to us, it is important to Him.

I saw a prime example of this years ago at a concert meet and greet crowd.  A little girl came up and cut me in the blob of a line.  Of course, at the time I was annoyed but years later I'm glad to have witnessed such a beautiful moment.

The artist, Peder Eide, leaned over to be at her height, put his arm around her, and held his head next to hers in order to hear her over the crowd.  I couldn't hear what she was saying, but I knew it was intense because every once in a while Peder would draw back to make eye contact with her.  As her story drew to a close, he started gently asking her questions.  The crowd pressing for his attention no longer mattered; he wanted to know more about this little girl.

When she was done and he was done asking questions, Peder looked her in the eye and said, "Thank you for telling me that.  I'll be praying for you."

Christ's waiting for you to tell Him the whole story.  The crowd of people lobbying for His attention vanishes when He's got His arm around you listening to your story.  He's willing to sit there and talk with you for as long as you want.  He'll stay until your story is complete, even if it's long and boring.  He'll ask questions and carefully listen to the answers.  When you're done, He'll say, "Thank you for telling Me that.  I'm sure it wasn't easy."

Sit and talk.  Let Him be your Audience of One.

The non-monetary amount you find will be worth a whole lot more than five dollars.
<>< Katie

Blue

I don't know if it is like this on all college campuses, but here you cannot spend time on campus without having at least one story about our housekeeping staff. The housekeepers LOVE to talk. Perhaps that's an understatement. They will start up conversation with anyone and everyone. Last year, a trip to the bathroom that should have taken eight steps took forty-five minutes because Miss Jessie caught me and I was without a good exit excuse.

Now that I no longer live in the dorms, I am no longer forced to interact with them as frequently as I once did. However, I still see them around campus. Just yesterday, Miss Anna had no problem interpreting my prayer to tell me about how she working double shift in order to attend the funeral of former housekeeper the next day. I figure God wouldn't mind if I spent five minutes talking to her while she changed the garbage bag in the prayer room.

Except that they're long winded, Miss Jessie and Miss Patty never have bothered me because I can understand them. It's the older women like Miss Rose and Miss Joy that make me nervous because they have the thickest accents I have ever heard. With Miss Rose, my motto has always been smile and nod politely as she tells me all of the gossip for the week.

With Miss Joy, smile and nod doesn't work. In the words of one of my professors, "Miss Joy was a housekeeper for almost a million years, so when she retired they invited her to audit any classes she wants. As I'm sure you've noticed, that means she sleeps through them all."

When she'd speak up in class, all eight of us (including the professor) would listen intently trying to hack through her deep drawl and old age to formulate some comprehensible statement and interpret it for the rest of the class. I could understand maybe three words every fifteen.

Since then, she's gotten older and her health has deteriorated taking some of her verbal skills with it. This means if I could understand one word before I can't understand anything now. That's a problem because like all of our other housekeepers, Miss Joy loves to talk. I knew I was in trouble when I spotted her sitting outside the cafeteria after dinner tonight.

"Good evening, Miss Joy," I said. There was no way around it; I had to acknowledge her presence.

"Hello. Slkjadansdmasd," she responded.

"Excuse me?"

"I like your blue coat."

"Thank you," I said. It's purple, I thought to myself. Everything I own is purple; Wonder Jacket is no exception. Poor Wonder Jacket is often confused to be blue and now she's feeling blue because of it (I just decided that if my coat has a name it should have feelings, too). Instead of correcting Miss Joy, I let it go.

"Yes, I think blue is your color."

"Thank you very much," I said trying to appear flattered as I walked away insulted.

BLUE?! My color? No you didn't! Purple is my color! A quick glance around my room confirms this. From my desk I see the following purple items: two backpacks, two Nalgenes, two blankets, four pens, my watch, post-it notes, tennis shoes, slippers, a purse, a hammock... Today even my sweater and socks are purple! My world is purple.

Blue is not my color.

See the blue? There's not much of it: blue books, blue pen (professors prefer blue to purple; why is that?), blue jump drive, blue tissue box (only because Wal-mart was out of purple), blue jeans, blue hand... No, not mine. Well, yes mine. It's made from paper and hanging on the wall above my desk. It's my reminder to see the blue.

In 2008, Peder Eide released a CD entitled See the Blue. The whole idea is that blue is everywhere around us but if we're not looking for it we don't see it. Likewise, God is everywhere around us but if we're not looking for Him we don't see Him.

Even though she insulted my jacket and me, Miss Joy reminded me to see the blue, to open my eyes and see God. Thank you! Maybe I will hold the door for you again.

View the Blue,
<>< Katie