What I Learned from Biscuits about Trust

The Sermon on the Mount is packed with good guidance.  I try to fast breakfast and lunch one day per week, which is what I would consider a beginner’s fast for a gluttonous guy like me.  I don’t like to talk about my fasting because The Sermon on the Mount says not to be showy when fasting because it is between you and God (Matthew 6:16-18).  I feel a bit uneasy talking about my fasting here, but I hope that the mention of it is seen as being told to bring glory to God.  I believe that stories told for the glory of God should be shared and not hidden.  I wouldn’t say that I’m any good at fasting anyway; I’ve been stuck on the beginner’s fast since the coronavirus pandemic started nearly three months ago.  

I decided when I began my weekly fast that I would accept food that was given to me by others and eat it even if I was fasting.  The food was their gift and I believe I would feel arrogant if I refused the gift.  Coincidentally, a coworker has been bringing me food about once a week, usually a sausage or chicken biscuit.  Though I’ve chosen different days to fast, this coworker has brought me food on the days that I’ve chosen to fast for at least the past four weeks.  He always seems to bring it to me late in the morning when I’m getting hungry, too.  It is as if God has put it on this man’s heart to give me some food so that I won’t be hungry.  Could that be?

I’m not fasting today, but I went grocery shopping this morning and didn’t have time to eat breakfast or pack a lunch before leaving for work.  Ironically, this same coworker brought me a bag of a half dozen biscuits to distribute this morning.  After distributing the biscuits to those who were here and wanted one, I was left with two biscuits.  One biscuit I ate for breakfast and the other I re-heated for lunch.  I’m not complaining, but how and why does this keep happening to me?

Even though I pray for provision from God at least daily, my skeptical mind doesn’t want to believe that God might be providing for me.  I don’t fully trust that the Lord is looking out for me even though He so obviously is.  Why, then, do I still worry?  Perhaps I should accept what Jesus says in The Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 6:25-27.  It would appear that Jesus knew just what I needed to hear.

 “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?”

 

Honeysuckle

I had a terrific weekend.  It started Thursday evening with a trip to Jamestown Elementary School, where I let the kids loose on the soccer fields.  Although it hurt to find out how out of shape we are, it was really fun running around on the open fields.  We played two-on-two soccer, with Autumn and Noah taking on Samuel and I.  We played four four-minute quarters, with five-minute breaks in between.  Once we wrapped up our game, Samuel went to the back of the field to get some honeysuckle flowers.  I went with him but I had forgotten how to get that drop of nectar from the honeysuckle blossom. I tried tearing a couple of flowers apart before asking Samuel for help.  He showed me how and we consumed the honeysuckle nectar from several blooms.  Then Samuel took a handful of flowers back across the field to Autumn and Noah.  Then he went back and got another handful of flowers to bring home to his mother.  I was glad to have been able to enjoy the simple wonder of honeysuckle nectar with my simply wonderful son.

Stephen

For the first two years that I worked at my present job, I rode my bike the roughly two miles from school to work and back on a daily basis in all weather.  Only once did I ask a coworker with a truck if he could give me a ride to my apartment at the end of the workday because the weather was so crappy.  I knew this coworker lived in the same direction and would be happy to put his son’s truck to good use by hauling my bike home for me.  When Maria and I moved farther away, I had to rely on my car to get to work and had to start renting a monthly parking space near work.

 

The first parking spot that I rented was behind a splendid, old house that had been converted into a law firm.  I parked there for a number of years.  There was a homeless man who was allowed to sleep on the side porch of the law firm as long as he was gone when the firm opened.  The man was not a drug or alcohol addict and he didn’t cause any trouble, although I would occasionally catch him taking a leak in the bushes as I drove into the lot in the morning.  I started to acknowledge this guy with a nod and, eventually, with a wave.  In time, I would make my way over to the street corner where he panhandled to give him a dollar.  He was more gracious for any company than money, though, and would talk to you until you forced an exit.

 

His name was Stephen and he slept on that porch and panhandled at that intersection for three years.  I learned a lot about Stephen in that time.  He was a Vietnam War veteran with a wife who had dementia and was living in an assisted living home.  He would get a ride to visit his wife on the weekends when he could.  As a kid, he was surrounded by a big family but he was the only one left now.  He was 19 the first time he came home from Vietnam and all he wanted was to see his dog, which died while he was away.  

Stephen had found out that he could get a monthly check from the government for being a disabled veteran, but the all the paperwork and the fact that he didn’t have an address and several other issues caused holdup after holdup.  He had someone from the Veteran’s Administration helping him, but the delays were discouraging and Stephen was getting tired of sleeping outside.

 

For nearly three years, I’d stop if I had time, give Stephen a little money and just listen to him as long as I could before ditching him.  For three years he was there and then one day he was gone.  He once told me that when his check comes in, he’s going to get donuts and bring some back for me and the guy from the VA that helped him.  He never came back, though, and that caused me to worry that something bad might have happened to him.  I’d often walk by his vacant street-corner and wonder what happened to him.  Then one day a scooter came up behind me and honked as I walked down the sidewalk toward work.  It was Stephen.  After a year, or so, he had returned.  He didn’t have any donuts, but I was almost brought to tears just knowing that he was OK.  He said that his wife had passed but he was OK.

 

His checks had started to come in and he now had an apartment just a couple of blocks away.  I didn’t see him for a couple of years after seeing him on the scooter, but I felt good knowing that he was no longer homeless.  Not only did I learn a lot about Stephen, but I also learned a lot from Stephen.  I was humbled to learn that I had some preconceived notions about homeless people that weren’t true.  I learned that homeless people are people, too.  Except for some mental issues that he picked up in Vietnam, Stephen was a normal guy who just couldn’t catch a break.  I began to pray for the homeless and have compassion.

 

Lately, I’ve seen Stephen panhandling again.  Maybe once a month I’ll see him at the corner across the street from my building.  If I see him, I go give him some money and lend an ear.  He still has his apartment, but he says that things get tight toward the end of the month.  I think that he still values my time and attention more than anything else I could give him.