A continuation of my attempt to finish a book I started in December 2017. Posting chapters in an attempt to organize it all and finish.
I am convinced during this time that Mr. December 19th is coming. And I’m trying to prepare for that. Everything was under a microscope. Good or bad. Like the Book says, the women who waited and watched and prepared to meet the groom were rewarded. The ones who were lazy missed the blessing. That’s how I interpreted it.
So preparing physically was part of that. Working out and trying to be really strict about my eating. But one day I was driving over by Rolling Oaks Mall. Very irritated and tired. Discouraged. And I went into the gas station on the corner and bought a ninety-nine cent ice cream bar.
I sat in my car and stared at the ice cream bar. I knew it wasn’t good for me. I knew eating it would sabotage the progress I was trying to make for Mr. December 19th. But I just wanted some damn relief.
So I opened the packaging. Looking at it. Guilt flooding through me. And something in me rebelled. I licked the ice cream with the tip of my tongue as my brain was screaming at me. The sugar was intoxicating. A few more licks before the fear overwhelmed me and I threw the ice cream bar out the window.
Massively heavy condemnation rained down on me mentally. Now I had done it. After all the prayers, all the Bible studies, all the services, all the self-denial, all the witnessing, all the serving – had I not learned anything? Was my heart still so wicked? Did I just trade Jesus for a ninety-nine cent ice cream sandwich?
I thought of Esau giving up his birthright for a bowl of stew. And somehow I just knew that was me too. I was convinced in that moment that I had given up Mr. December 19th for a ninety-nine cent ice cream bar. Weeping and gnashing of teeth.
“Afterward, as you know, when he wanted to inherit this blessing, he was rejected. Even though he sought the blessing with tears, he could not change what he had done.”
That was me. That was how I saw myself. But not having anything to look forward to was too overwhelming to face, so I determined to carry on in hopes that maybe God would be merciful. I put my nose back to the grindstone. Prepared to work my fingers to the bone. To prove to God that I was sorry. Maybe He’d still give me a chance. I promised Him that I would stay at Manna House until I got married.
“When people work, their wages are not a gift, but something they have earned.”
“But to one who without works trusts Him who justifies… such faith is reckoned as righteousness.”
Thankfully working over seventy hours a week at Manna House kept me so busy that I really didn’t have time to think about much more than each present moment. I stayed as busy as possible because I wanted to be a good steward of the position. To God and to those who contributed their resources to that ministry.
One time I arrived back to Manna House to find water coming out of a pipe above the front door. I called Pastor Ken to let him know about the problem. He said he would send someone over.
Imagine my surprise when I opened the door and you, the chiropractor, were there with the friend, Taqui, you had introduced us to at the clinic you worked out of. Never in a million years would I have expected you to show up when there was a problem with the air conditioner. It didn’t make any sense.
But it turned out Taqui had an air conditioning repair business and you were with him when he stopped by.
I let the two of you in. And then brought Taqui upstairs to show him where the utility closet was.
I have always been a very serious person. Mostly due to years saturated in fear. And this time at Manna House was no exception. The main business was to save people’s souls from eternal hellfire damnation. Life of the party, eh?
But here was Taqui making jokes as he diagnosed the air conditioning problem. Some of which were playfully irreverent. And they awoke something in me.
Here I am slaving away, I mean “serving” basically twenty-four hours a day. Trying to do the “Lord’s work”. And yet it was so embarrassingly quickly obvious with just a few of Taqui’s jokes that I might be alive, but I was not living. There was Life and joy in him that was clearly and painfully not in me. I was stunned. I thought I had been doing everything right, but clearly something was very wrong.
And yet just as quickly as those thoughts landed in me, Taqui was done and ya’ll were headed towards the door.
I invited ya’ll to join us two different Thursdays for “Family Night” in thanks for your assistance. Initially I believe ya’ll said yes but then cancelled and didn’t show. But that was on par for my life, so I was disappointed but not surprised. And moved on with life without giving it much further thought.
But I never anticipated how much would later happen from the hunger his jokes would sow in me that day. I wasn’t prepared for how much my world would change. It would have made more sense to me at the time just settling for becoming more comfortable keeping the status quo. But no, everything would eventually change.
I was still watching Angel several times after we moved into Manna House. One of those times was when her dad needed surgery. He mentioned that he also needed someone to be with him at the hospital and I believe drive him home after the procedure.
Probably the only reason you came to mind was because you had just come along with Taqui for the air conditioning problem. Because other than you both being single Christian men, there wasn’t any obvious connection. It didn’t really make sense for me to reach out to you on his behalf. There were probably plenty of other men more inline. But maybe even more surprising, you said yes and he agreed for you to be there.
So that worked out and I watched Angel while you were with her dad in the hospital. He made it through surgery and that was all there was to it. Until we passed each other at church during a following service. And I thanked you for being available.
Somehow during that conversation we started talking about the church’s annual community outreach event, Joy of Jesus.
For whatever reason, you mentioned that you really didn’t want to do your chiropractic work at that event. I can’t remember why. But after we talked about it a bit, you seemed to have thought it through enough to feel free not to sign up. Had peace about it. That just because there was an event that religious people were putting on, that didn’t mean you were obligated to participate. Especially how others maybe expected you to participate. Or maybe even just how you presumed they expected you to participate.
So it was much to my surprise when I was flipping through the sign-up sheet probably the next week or so and noticed your name on the list. I mentioned it when I saw you in passing again. And rather grouchily and comically, you sighed, “Yesssss, I signed up.” You not hiding your lack of enthusiasm about this made me laugh. At how funny and capable Spirit is at changing our minds sometimes. No matter how hard we fight.
So then imagine how hilarious it was to me when I later saw that out of dozens of church members working the event that day, a news station showed up and decided to take your picture and post it twice in their article. Some of those church members had probably been thinking and preparing for Joy of Jesus all year. And here you are, fighting it all the way up to the last few days, and then showing up and getting profiled in the news for all the city to see!
You knew exactly why I was cracking up the next time I saw you in passing at church. I think you were more embarrassed by the attention than anything. But I thought it was hilarious. God has a huge sense of humor.
I’ve seen you in action. I know you care. Deep down. That isn’t the issue. It just was so ironic that you, of all people, were called out. It didn’t make any sense.
We both went back to our lives.
Sarah Nyhan 