There's Your Sign

“There’s your sign!”

In the South, that’s slang for “You’re stupid!” basically.

You’re in the park flying a kite when a man walks up and asks if you’re flying a kite. There’s your sign.

You run over the garden hose with the lawnmower. Twice. “There’s your sign!” (Though my little sister “accidentally” did this two weeks in a row before Dad punished her by no longer being allowed to use the mower.  Not so dumb, actually.)

You spend an hour curling your hair before looking out the window to see the rainstorm. Sign.

Urban dictionary attributes the phrase to Comedian Bill Engvall in the late 90’s:

“I went up to the ticket counter in the airport and told the lady she lost my luggage. She looked straight at me and said, ‘Has your plane arrived yet?’ There’s your sign.”

This jovial barb is often used with friends and family and is a way of making light of our mistakes and slap-your-forehead moments. I’ve probably said it to my sister 793 times.

It’s not her fault. I’ve always thought if Mom had gone to the hospital when she first went into labor instead of waiting until the end of that episode of The Waltons, my sister would’ve had a better start in life.

Thankfully the VCRs that came later protected newborns from having to wait for Goodnight, John Boy before they could enter the world.

There’s your sign!

All joking aside, signs are a big part of my ministry. Most of the homeless have  signs.

I have one too.

Actually, I have two and they are on the side of my van.

Shortly after we began going out to feed the homeless, I got a pair of magnetic signs to put on my van. I hadn’t given it a lot of thought,  just decided it would be nice.

The impact of the signs has been greater than I could’ve possibly imagined.

First, it lends some protection and safety for me and those I’m ministering to. If I offer someone a ride, the signs on the van convey ministry, not serial killer. And I stopped getting approached at intersections with little baggies as I traveled through rough neighborhoods. Now the dealers either wave or ignore me. I pray for them too.

Second, my van has become something of a rolling confessional. Complete strangers will come up to me in store parking lots and tell me their stories and ask for prayer. The signs have our motto Serving Christ by Serving Others along with our phone number.   We’ve been asked for directions, rides, money, food, prayer, and advice.  All because of the signs.

Perhaps the most important part of the signs, though, is the accountability. When people see MINISTRY on the side of my vehicle, they should see compassion. When they see Serving Christ by Serving Others, they should see Jesus.

They should not see someone laying on the horn and yelling because they were cut off in traffic.

Or yelling at the drive-through cashier because the plain cheeseburger had pickles on it.

On most days, this is hardly a struggle. I’ve overcome too much to get upset because someone took the parking spot I was waiting on.

I knew things had changed the day my husband and I came out of Wal-Mart and we were nearly hit by a car in the crosswalk. The couple next to us started yelling and cursing at the driver before I realized that I was on a completely different train of thought.

I was wondering what type of car ran so smoothly that you couldn’t hear it approach and what a difference that was from my hear-it-a-mile-away van.

I call that peace.

It’s not a given.

Nor do I have it 24/7.

So on those days that my peace is hard to find, I remember the signs.

They remind me that I’m representing Christ.

Many store owners and wait staff tell us that Christians are the worst customers of all.

Why is that? And what can I do about it?

For starters, I can make sure that the signs on the outside of my car reflect the person within.

In all circumstances.