Slap in the Face

Today a Chicago friend posted this story on her Facebook page:

I was touched by a homeless man asking for help because he was hungry. I was in a hurry and walked on. On my way out of my meeting, I stopped by a store and bought him lunch. (I never carry cash). When he approached me to ask again for help, I handed him the bag. He promptly screeched at me that he didn't want it and yelled that he wanted money so he could go to McDonald's.

The Facebook thread immediately went to "tool" "he wanted booze" "beggars can't be choosy".  Today that's not where my mind went, but it has many times before.

I was raised in a very small community in the 1960's - 1970's.  There were no black families in our town.  There were middle-class white people. Only. There were a few "rich" people that lived on the other side of town, in the "big" houses.  But, in reality we were all very middle class. And, all white. It's embarrassing to say even today. Our community wasn't culturally diverse, and my parents weren't either.  My parents were both born and raised in that same town, and never traveled further than 200 miles away before they were married just out of high school.  My parents didn't raise me to see others as equals; they didn't talk about "others".  They weren't prejudice; they just didn't know much about the "others". They knew about small-town middle-class white people.  

When I moved to Indianapolis I saw a little more of the melting pot.  But in all honesty, diversity frightened me.  I just wasn't certain what to expect.

On my first trip to Puerto Vallarta Mexico with Keith, we took the wrong bus, the wrong way and had to get out at the end of the line.  For 30 minutes as we waited for the next bus to come I mumbled under my breath about the "others" staring at us from shacks. I could hear them speaking in a language I didn't understand - obviously plotting to attack us and take what was ours for themselves. Well, that didn't happen -- and who knows what they said.  I didn't think I was prejudice; I was mostly just scared of what I didn't know or understand.


You see, in reality we are all the same --- me and the "others".  We were all created equally by a loving God.  We all want better for our kids than we had, a roof over our head and food for our bellies, we all want - to a degree - to be a little happier tomorrow than we were today.  We all want to afford a better education for our children than we had.  We all want to be known and loved. We come from different socio-economic backgrounds, and cultures, and speak a different language.  But, we really aren't that different.

And, like the homeless man in Chicago today, we all slap God when He gives us His good and perfect gifts. 

I have a beautiful house with plenty of rooms, but I often dream of a bigger, newer house (without ants).  I have a closet full of clothes, but I often dream of nicer, more stylish clothes.  My kids have so many electronic gadgets it makes me sick - but when the newest version comes out, they want it (well, to be honest - this one is about me sometimes, too).  I have food overflowing in two pantries, two fridges and a freezer, but I want a package of Oreos and a glass of milk to comfort me after a long day. I have His grace abounding in my heart, and yet I don't want to share it with others.

Many scoffed at the homeless man because he wouldn't accept the blessing given to him today. Yet, am I so different?  

Before I point out "beggars can't be choosy", I hope I remember how many fingers are pointing back at me. I am a beggar. And, He gives mercy, grace, love, and so many blessings; yet, I'm not a gracious receiver. I ask for different. I ask for more. I ask for a different color.  I ask for it sooner. Or later. I ask for a McDonald's lunch instead of a grocery story lunch every day, several times a day.  As the song says "ain't that a slap in the face".

Through it all. Despite my failings. Despite my scoffs, He loves me. Shouldn't I do the same for all those around me, even "the others"? Maybe especially "the others".  

I love because He first loved me.