Patmos Isle

The life of a Pastor, one who has been beaten and left to die by his own kind.

Name:
Location: Texas, United States

I consider myself as one that has seen the dark side of humanity and has lived to speak of it.

Sunday, September 04, 2005

Just a stranger

I find my bed in the early hours of a Sunday morning and awaken from it in what some would consider but just a few moments. It is then that I pull into the parking lot of a local coffee shop where when I arrive, the strangers who know me the least, all call me Pastor.

I go into their little shop with money in hand every Sunday and the lady smiles back at me and replies... "The Lord has bought your cup today" I know they do not go broke by one cup on a single day, so I buy my coffee beans from them, well I buy others coffee beans from them, I order mine from a different source, yet I would never tell them that.

I walked through the door, a little later this morning,no doubt even more so tired than the last, they noticed , they said... "We feared you would not come today"

It caught me by surprise and stopped me from going forward, there in the doorway I had to remove a tear from the crease of sorrow that is like a river bed, deep on my face. The ladies response, was a napkin at the counter and the squeeze of my hand.

I have never preached to any of them, I have never lead their loved ones to Christ. I have never buried their greatest treasures back into the earth where they had come from. I have never served them the blessed and holy sacrament. I have never sat across a table and comforted them over a son/daughter that is in jail for living a life that he/she was not raised to live. I have never had to tell them, God's ways we are not meant to understand, but by faith let us journey on. I have never had to tell them, the one they have spent the last 40 years with, is moving out of their life, because of a secretary, because of another dream. I have never squeezed her hand at the side of a casket. They know me as a Pastor, and I don't even recall telling them, I am not of the same faith as they believe.

I returned to my van to carry this cup of coffee into an office filled with sermons and messages that were put on paper so they could journey into places that man alone fears to go by themselves. Scribbled notes, from a heart that begged of the Father, "please give me the words, you see it was their 5 year old son". Notebooks and a computer hard drive that is filled with words of comfort, rebuke, peace, and joy. Yet all that have seen them and all that have heard them, has yet to squeeze my hand.

I wonder even now as I type this, maybe she is not a stranger.

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