Worn Life

WORN LIFE

Rob's worn sneakers did little to protect his feet from the hot asphalt. He favored a bad left knee, slowly limping and wandering aimlessly through the arid streets of a no name town. A matted gray beard grew to his sternum and parted in several places near a tear in his soiled sweat laden white t-shirt, a tear that exposed much of his stomach. As he approached the opposite curb he ran his fingers through his thin gray hair and stood briefly in the useless shade of a traffic signal pole. Rob did not wait for the next walk signal. As he gathered his hair into a pony tail at the base of his neck, he thought, If I was dead, I'd be out of the heat. He wasn't complaining though. He had indirectly chosen the homeless life when he gave up hope of his wife's return, but she was gone - probably dead. He hoped she wasn't dead. He wanted to see her again, but not if she was still with the other man.

Her departure had led to depression and unemployment. No one wants a depressed preacher that can't hold his own marriage together. Wiping sweat from his brow with a sunburned arm, he noticed his t-shirt needed to be tucked in again. He fixed the shirt, adjusting the nylon rope belt holding up oversized jeans at the same time. His walk was becoming more painful with each step, but he kept moving and thinking of times past trying to ignore it.

This was his daily routine. He wondered why Pamela had left him. Was she alive after these past twenty years? "The only real friend I ever had was Pamela," he said aloud as he moved past a group of noisy teens.

He heard one of them say something about "stinking wino," giving the young assembly a hearty laugh, but he ignored them, thinking more about the pain in his knee. The old sports injury hurt worse in heat and caused an obvious limp in his stride. Age didn't help either, he surmised. He'd never forget the accident that changed his walk forever, but he also had never regretted playing the sport that caused it. Thinking about youth was just about the only thing that kept him going.

When lying still at night, he had vivid memories of playing football with friends, having hardly a care in the world. His eyes watered during those reflections of the past, as they did when he thought of his missing wife. Pamela, what could I have done to you for you to leave me after twenty years? I was kicked out of the church! Our children won't talk to me. Do they talk with you?

He was alone. Every day since he'd found her empty closet, he had let the memories of Pamela torment him, so now he tried to focus on good times, dwelling as much as possible on high school football and youth in an attempt to get her off of his mind. Forty-five years ago he'd been a football star, and now he was nobody; an ex-pastor living on the street. Twenty years gone by, sleeping under pigeon infested bridges, relying on the charity of others. Cars, houses, jobs, and even life meant nothing to him without her to share it with. He wondered if her new love made her happy. Though it was doubtful, he even wondered if she had ever tried to come back. At first, before being ejected from the church, he'd wallowed in degradation in front of the congregation knowing that Pamela had run away with another man in the fold, yet... the questions obsessed him. At the end of each passing day, he considered, Who cares? The congregation didn't care, they just kicked me out.

He walked around another corner and for the first time today noticed his hunger. He hoped someone might give him a bite to eat so he wouldn't have to ask for money. Looking like a stinking wino was humiliating enough since he didn't use alcohol. He didn't like people to think he was pan-handling for a bottle. At times he reeked of alcohol from comforting other street people sick with wine. Oh... he wanted to drown his troubles alright, but not with a bottle. He always tried to ease his mind with prayer, but by and large, he felt no different after the Amen than before.

He walked into an unexpected shade, looked up and saw a thundercloud forming, covering the sun. He smiled gently through his beard and mustache as a refreshing sprinkle fell, cooling the sweaty t-shirt. He stopped and enjoyed the bright rays of sunshine bursting in brilliant streaks from behind the cloud. The rays seemed unusually bright today. Wow, look at the Power behind those clouds! He liked rain any time of year, but above all he liked watching thunderheads, lightning, and smelling a cleansing rain. A unique awe emerged from his soul each time he watched the huge clouds take form, and he forgot about Pamela. The power of any storm always satisfied his solitude for a time, each storm different, no two clouds or lightning bolts the same. Smiling bigger, worn tarnished teeth showing now, he raised his left hand to shade his eyes from the rays bursting through and around the cloud. A small laugh escaped parched lips.

"The God that created all of this also created me." He sighed.

"Yes... He did indeed my friend," someone said from behind.

Rob frowned at the interruption, and turned his weathered face to tell the voice that he had no friends. But on seeing him, he looked familiar somehow.

"Surprised to see me?" The younger man asked.

"No, not really, but do I know you?" Rob stammered. "I've seen you somewhere before, I think, but I can't remember where."

"You've never been without a friend, Rob. Let's finish your walk and take in this view." Rob heard thunder and felt the ground shake as they moved along the sidewalk, and the young man placed his left arm around Rob's weak shoulders, giving him a resurgence of encouragement and strength, then an energizing breeze cooled him. "You are no longer limping my son," said the Stranger.

Rob looked down at his legs for a moment, deep in thought. His face took on a youthful expression, eyes abundant with the awe of a child. Rob looked over at the man he now recognized, and experienced a new understanding of everything. He knew he would never again experience pain and said, "Hello Father. When I was six-"

"Yes," the Lord interrupted, "When you were six, you bowed and asked Me into your heart, which was the Way to eternal life. You have put self-pity before faith at times, but you have been steadfast in looking to Me for strength while guiding others in My direction. I've been preparing a place for you, and tonight we will dine together with the Father."

Rob felt uncensored Love flowing from the Lord into his body and soul, and at the same instant he had answers to a million questions.

He knew instantly that Pamela had never been the "wife, friend or Christian" she'd professed. She was burning in a place Rob would never see or experience, and for a moment, he was particularly sad about her doom. His children had followed her same path and were suffering in life but he could see that there was still hope for them. Then... as Love continued flowing into him - it displaced all sadness, shame, contempt and bad memories of his short life. All these feelings were at once superseded with the expectant joy of spending eternity with his Creator. This was the Truth! He recognized it now. "This is what You meant when You said that You are 'The Way, The Truth, and The Life'."

"It is Rob. I Am the Son. Let us now go and meet Our Father. The streets truly are made of gold you know, and more beautiful than any storm you could ever imagine..."

John 14:6 -
Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.