“God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” 1 Peter 5:5
I really don’t know him, nor him me.
Minus the handful of momentary exchanges we’ve shared over the past few years, you could say that we’re perfect strangers. And yet we’re not. In God’s economy there are no meaningless encounters.
Jason is a 30-something homeless amputee. He panhandles at a bustling retail complex where I frequently shop. I don’t know his story, although I hope for the privilege to hear it one day.
I don’t always see Jason when I’m passing through, and when I do there’s no guarantee that we’ll connect. At times, I’m in the wrong lane or the flow of traffic prevents a stop. Those are the moments when I observe him from afar.
He navigates the narrow median strip on well-worn crutches with an unfettered sense of determination. As cars slow and windows roll down, he propels his body forward, accepts whatever currency is bestowed, expresses genuine gratitude, then off he goes for another exchange. Jason is no slouch.
A crumpled rucksack, his constant companion, lays lifeless on the concrete. I imagine it holding items too valuable to leave unmonitored at his home base (wherever that may be): bus fare, personal identification, faded photos.
As my gaze shifts to its owner, I detect many of the physical traits one would expect from an unhoused individual. Worn clothes and boots. Disheveled hair. Build slight enough to signify the lack of three square meals a day. But Jason, like every human being created in the image of God, is more than he appears, and our Jesus eyes and hearts must always operate out of God’s instructions in 1 Samuel 16:7b: “For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
Through the years I’ve discovered that a person’s true character comes to light even when they attempt to mask it. A person who lies and manipulates in dire circumstances will most likely do it when living on Easy Street. Then there are those with sincere and humble hearts, which inform every interaction regardless of current circumstances.
Jason is the latter. He’s meek but not vexed by self-pity. He carries himself with a quiet dignity, and his work ethic inspires. Each time we chat I’m filled with respect for him. As a matter of fact, through our brief association he’s enriched me through the principled life he walks. These are the lessons Jason taught me:
- A person’s character is not defined but magnified by his/her circumstances.
- Dignity is the product of humility in the face of life-altering challenges. Self-pity is the lack of it.
- Strong work ethic demonstrates a person’s will to thrive and overcome, signaling the presence of hope.
- True gratitude sees the king’s feast in what others view as mere morsels.
- Kindness transcends all demographics.
- God is intentional in choosing the meek and disenfranchised through which to change the world.
Jason and I last spoke in late spring: “Hey Jason, how’s it going?” I asked, as he made his way to my open window. “I’m good,” he replied with his usual reserved demeanor, but something shifted when our eyes connected. Was it recognition from our previous encounters? Could’ve been, but when his mouth turned up in a smile I knew it was something more.
He brightened as he continued to speak, “I’m getting housing! It’ll take about three months for the paperwork, but I’m getting a place. And they’re working on getting me a prosthetic leg!”
I didn’t know who “they” were, but I was grateful for their advocacy on his behalf. That face, which had borne weight and lines beyond its years became youthful as relief and thankfulness and long-absent peace washed over it.
There’s no other word for it, I was giddy. “Jason, that’s amazing! Praise God! That’s life-changing! I’m so happy for you!” Insert profuse exclamation marks here.
All too soon the light turned green, abruptly ending the poignant moment. My eyes misted as I caught Jason in the rearview mirror. I praised God for His work in this man’s life, for this new season. The honor and privilege of witnessing it was not lost on me either, so I praised Him for that as well.
Several months have passed since Jason shared his good news. My eyes still search for that lone figure with an uneven gait as I traverse those busy intersections. I feel his absence, yet I can’t help but rejoice. Glory to God, this is no longer Jason’s life! I pray he’s found a sanctuary called home, gainful employment and a growing faith in the God who saw and rescued him.
I don’t know who your Jason is, but God does. Pay attention. Often the most beautiful gifts come wrapped in plain, brown paper, and you won’t want to miss them. I’ll always be grateful that Jesus gave me eyes to recognize mine.
