I don't give up easily.
Actually, if someone tells me not to do something, I usually dig my heels in and do it anyway out of spite.
That's probably one of my less godly traits.
I can be stubborn...and rebellious.
I also have a soft spot for the underdog, be it a sports team or a person.
I figure they need all the extra help they can get.
So it isn't surprising that I can be found on the streets giving all I have, and often getting nothing in return.
Because it isn't about me anyway.
I've pleaded with the Lord to heal people near death, to deliver from addiction, and to show mercy when it wasn't deserved or even desired.
I've begged to stand in the gap and intercede for those I've grown to care deeply for.
But yesterday something new happened.
He told me to walk away.
It isn't the first time I've backed off from someone on the streets. Sometimes they need a little more time in the hole before they hit rock bottom and reach up. Some never do.
But I'm never more than an arm's length away from anyone who reaches out.
Until now.
Scooter, who I've written about several times, has a very special place in my heart. I care deeply for him and I would consider him a friend. Even when he is not doing well (which has been the case for the last three months) he still stays in touch by text and I occasionally visit.
Last week he had his third opportunity to get true help. He had the equivalent of a winning lottery ticket, a free apartment and furnishings, and the opportunity to get off the streets for the first time in ten years. He fell apart (fear?) the first two times this came to pass and got so drunk he was unable to even carry on a decent conversation.
On Thursday we talked about this. He wasn't going to let it happen this time. He knew he had self-sabotaged. He knew he may never get another chance like this. He was ready.
Friday morning he was in that exact same place again, unable to even come out of his tent.
That door closed with the housing organization.
I was aggravated, but it didn't stop me from caring or wanting to help him some other way.
But then Sunday morning came.
I stopped at Tent City to pick up for church, as usual, and even though I knew Scooter wouldn't come (he hasn't been in a few months) I wanted to step in and say hello.
My feet were like lead.
I literally couldn't move.
What's going on, I wondered. Lord?
That's it, He told me. You are done here. When he texts (and I knew he would) you are to tell him that you don't walk away unless the Lord tells you to and this seems to be between him and God.
I tried to explain, to expound, in my head what else I would say.
No. I've told you what to say. Not a word more or a word less.
I got it.
I hate it because I will be just another person who he feels has abandoned him. But I'm not going to interfere with what the Lord is doing.
After all, He is the reason I'm out there.
I thought I was standing in the gap...
Turns out I was just standing in the way.
No comments:
Post a Comment