As I meandered through the endless web of MySpace pages tonight, I stumbled across an old high school friend’s music page. I was listening to his music and saw that he had a few blog entries. I decided to read and I found this one. Read it, let it sink in, then react.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Just Another Lunch
Have you ever seen the look of complete shame in a man’s eyes. I have several times. I saw it in the eyes of my father, a man who let alchahol take away everything he had worked for. I heard the shame in his voice as he explained why he failed to call for so long. He had been waiting for something to happen that he could be proud of. He wanted to call in a time of triumph, but that time never came. I saw and heard that same shame a few days ago. Not from my father, who passed away several years ago, but from a man in downtown Nashville trying to find a way to eat lunch. I was getting a sandwich in a sub-shop when the man approached holding a tattered dollar and some change. He very quietly said “Sir, this is all the money I have. Will you please take it and cover the rest so that I can have a sandwich?” This is not an unusual occurance in downtown Nashville and normally I would have waved him off, but something in this man struck me. In his voice, I heard my father’s shame. In his eyes, I saw my father’s weariness.I offered to cover his lunch and declined his crumpled dollar and change, but he would not allow it. It was all he had, but he demanded that I take what he could pay. And then this man, at least twenty years my senior, looked at me and asked, “What can I order”? I told him to order whatever looked good to him. He thanked me no less than twenty times before he got his sandwich and several times more after. As he walked away, I sat in front of the meal that I did not sacrifice a great deal for, the meal that I did not have to shed my pride for. I sat and I thought about what it would take for me to be in his shoes. I’m fortunate to have enough to get by and if I didn’t, I have friends and family who care for me. But I understand how fragile these securities are. I thought about how quickly Job lost everything he had worked for. Mostly, I thought about my father, wondering if he ever had to beg for a meal. I wish I had asked the man to sit with me. I wish I had known exactly what to say or do. I still have the crumpled dollar. Maybe I’ll keep it to remind me that I’m not so different than that man in the street. I saw my father in him, I can only pray that he saw Christ in me.
The original (and some pretty good songwriting) can be found here .
I particularly like “For Lack of a Better Word” and “My Baby Drives a Truck” – yes, it’s country.