My Selfish Heart

It had been a long day.  My husband and I had sold our car on Saturday so on Sunday, Andrew’s day to relax, he gave me a ride to work, planning to come get me at 3pm.  I rescued a broken cookie before being doomed to the garbage, poured myself a cup of refreshing iced coffee and leaned up against the pillar outside of Panera to wait for him.  Because he knows how glad I am to be done with my shift, I was sure he’d try to be right on time.

Five minutes had gone by and no sign of Andrew.  Ugh, I really wanted to get home so that we could go pick up my “new” (1998 Chevy Prism) car.  I called him.  “Yes, I’m on my way,” he said.  “I got tied up doing errands, though, so I’ll be there in about forty minutes.”

“Forty minutes?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes, forty minutes.  I’ll explain when I get there.”

“Okaaay,” I said tentatively, wondering if that meant he had gone to get my car.  I chose not to get angry or frustrated, knowing that my husband would need a very good reason to be that late doing something he’d said he would do.  That was probably the peak of my positive attitude that afternoon.

What do I do while I wait?  Life had been so busy of late that every minute of time seemed valuable.  I wished I had something productive to do while I waited.  I called my mom.  I’d tell her about the “new” car and a recent job opportunity that I was applying for.

As we talked, I saw a lady carrying some shopping bags walking with a woman who was obviously homeless.  There were a lot of homeless people that hung around this cafe, probably because it was close to downtown and all the medical buildings, so I pretty much dismissed it.  All the homeless people kind of annoyed me.  They were constantly walking into the cafe and looking for hand-outs.  I hate to admit that I often wonder what choices they made that put them out on the street.  

I overheard the lady asking the homeless woman if she would like something to eat, “no beer; food!” she kept insisting in her broken English to the frail wobbly woman.  The lady walked into the cafe and soon emerged with a sandwich.  By this time I had situated myself at a table on the patio as I chatted with my mom.  

I watched as the lady insisted the woman eat the sandwich.  The talking was distracting me from my phone conversation and I was a little annoyed.  One sandwich isn’t going to make a difference for all the meals this lady won’t get, all the alcohol she’ll drink anyway, and all the homeless people around here that aren’t getting a sandwich today, I thought to myself, a little ashamed at my attitude.  I moved back to the pillar, leaned, and continued on with my story to my mom.  Then my phone died.  Now I was really annoyed.  

I went back to the table to sit and sip my iced coffee.  It was a typical August day in Florida; hot and humid.  I didn’t want to go back into the cafe, though.  I didn’t want to think about work.  Sitting there, I couldn’t help listening to the Spanish-speaking woman talking to the lady and, now, the man who also sat there.  She was sharing her testimony in broken English, once having been on the street herself; money as her God.  Tears ran down her face.  I was drawn in.  I leaned toward her and nodded in agreement.  She kept saying, “You pray?  Receive Jesus?”  and kept trying to get the woman to eat her sandwich.  The woman had no teeth, so I didn’t know how she’d chew the sandwich. Besides, every time she looked at the sandwich, she clutched her mouth like she was going to vomit.  

“ When she drinks this much, she not hungry,” the man finally explained

I finally spoke, “do you want me to get her some water?”  It was the least I could do and definitely what she needed being that intoxicated.  The man nodded and I went into the cafe and got her a big cup of water.  The woman seemed very appreciative as she took the cup and started drinking right away.  I told her to drink it slow so that she could keep it down, she nodded and gestured vomiting with her hand in understanding.  

How interesting that she can’t keep down food and water is what she really needed to satisfy her drunken body. Here, this lady has been trying to explain the gospel to her.  I need to try, I thought.  So I talked to the man and woman about satisfaction of the body and satisfaction of the soul; the ever-quenching water and the bread of life, as Jesus had so often shared.  

“The body can be alive,” I said, “but weak for lack of food.  No matter how much food you have, your body is still going to die some day.  Your soul is sick but food cannot mend the soul.  Only Jesus can bring your soul back to life and it doesn’t matter whether the body is alive or dead because the soul lives forever in heaven with God if you trust in Jesus and receive the life that he offers.  You can try and try to resist temptation, but without Jesus, you will always fail.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the man said, “I know it but I don’t live it.  The drugs and alcohol keep gettin’ in the way.”

“I understand,” I responded, “our hearts are sick.  There is a hole there, a void, which we try to fill with all kinds of things--alcohol, drugs, sex, money--a lot of different things.  Those things are momentary.  They do not last.  Jesus fills that hole for ever and ever.  He took on your hurt, your pain, and your suffering because he knew we couldn’t do it ourselves.  Our sin has separated us from God, which is why that hole is there, but Jesus died to reconcile us to Him.  We need to believe it, receive it, and trust Jesus for our lives...” Or, at least, I think that’s what I said.  It’s hard to know in the moment but I trust God’s Spirit was with me and speaking through me.  

I also told them that when we’re sick, God may not choose to heal us because our bodies aren’t going to last forever anyway, it’s our souls that He cares about because that is what lives on after our bodies die.  Both the man and the woman nodded in agreement, seemingly excited about this truth.

Around this time, a young lady walked up in an oversized polo shirt and hospital bracelets on her arms.  “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation,” she said.  “I believe everything that they are saying.  I just lost my son a week and a half ago.  He was three weeks old.  I was just meeting with my pastor, planning the memorial service.”

“Are you sick?” the man asked pointing to the hospital wrist bands.

“No,” she said.  These are from visiting my son in the NICU.  I just can’t seem to take them off.  I not ready, yet.  “But I know that my son is with Jesus and that’s all I need.”  Then she started telling them about her church family and invited them to come to the church which was close-by on Thursday nights for a meal.  They were both excited to hear about it.

Just then, a man walked up, holding a small boy and handed them a Panera bag.  “Would you like this food?” he asked.

“You her pastor?” the man asked.

“No, I was just walking by and thought you might want some food.” 

The man was grateful and a bit speechless and the gentleman and his son walked away.

“You pray right now?  Receive Jesus?” the lady said again.

“I would like to pray, but I struggle to have a sincere heart,” the man responded.  I was grateful for his honesty.  

“The English lady will pray for you.  She pray English, I pray Spanish.  Would you like that?” the lady said.

“Yes, yes, alright.” he said, kind of excited.  So I prayed for the Lord to help him have a sincere heart and prayed a salvation prayer that the man might agree in his heart.  I prayed that God would help him to follow through.

“Oh man!  This, right here, is a prayer warrior!” the man exclaimed, “I wish I could pray that way, I just don’t know how.”

“Sir, you don’t need to know how to be good at praying.  You know how you and I are talking right now?” He nodded.  I continued, “that’s how Jesus wants us to pray to him.  It’s just a conversation between two people.  He just wants you to be honest about what is on your heart and he will respond.”  The man seemed to be encouraged.

“Now you,” said the lady, gesturing to the woman, “you pray?  Receive Jesus?  Right now?”

The woman, without her teeth and in a drunken slur said something to the effect that she knew God when she was small and she loves her Father but she can’t seem to stay on the right path.

“Would you like to pray to come back to the Father?  To ask Him to help you turn your life around?”

“Yes, ok.  Yes” she slurred.  So I prayed.  

Shortly after I looked up, I saw Andrew drive by in a car I had only seen pictures of.  My heart was conflicted.  The three were still talking about spiritual things but I knew Andrew had been doing what he’d rather not be doing on his day of rest and would want to get home.

“I have to go,” I tried to say.  It didn’t work.  I was still connected to what God was doing.  I had wanted to be ready to greet my husband and jump into the car.  He had obviously walked into the cafe and not seen me, then walked out the back door.  I stood, introduced Andrew to the three and said, “we’ve been talking about Jesus.”

I quickly recapped the events to Andrew as we walked to the car.  Suddenly the “new” car didn’t seem as significant anymore.  

“I’m sorry you had to wait so long,” Andrew said.

“I think I had something else I was supposed to do,” I said, “I think I was supposed to share the gospel with those homeless people and pray with them.  I just hope their hearts were sincere and that they follow through on their understanding.”

“Me too,” he agreed.

It’s amazing how selfish my mind and heart can be.  I had all this extra time and was frustrated that I couldn’t use it for myself.  Even in the midst of the conversation with the lady, the homeless woman, and the homeless man, I was worried about so many things which needed to get done and yet it was almost as if God forced me to the feet of Jesus’ feet to use me in the lives of these people.  Here this Spanish lady took the initiative to buy food and care for this woman, even sharing the gospel in a language she’s not fluent in.  God brought me into the situation to be His mouth where the Spanish lady lacked.  Looking back a few days later, I’m humbled before the cross.  Do I have a heart to share Christ’s love only when it’s convenient to me or do I keep my eyes and heart open for opportunities even when I am busy?  Maybe God arranged for me to have nothing to do for nearly an hour so that He could show me what I’m missing out on when I’m busy doing things for myself.