I have chosen to stop blogging here on WordPress. Instead, I shall be posting at this site:
http://carryme.typepad.com/f2white/
It’s not quite as pretty as my current blog. I’m still getting used to Typepad’s options, but I’m quite pleased with it thusfar.
“Why?” you ask.
You shall see.
After completing a dirty deed at a local convenience store men’s room, I washed up and walked through the store and pulled a SmartWater bottle out of cooler and took up toward the cashier. En route, I saw a foreign-looking fellow organizing some candy goods to my left. I smiled his way, and he looked shocked! Then I heard this: “Hellyo. Havva gud dae.”
“Great! Thanks, man! You have a good day, too!” I responded. He went on to shuffling through his work, and I kept walking up to the register to pay. But my mind stopped. Here was a man probably 30+ years old, living in a country he doesn’t know, working around a gas station, seeking to speak a language he can’t understand. What would that be like? I wanted to talk to him, but despite that, what could I say that he’d understand? Just because he can’t speak my language doesn’t mean he doesn’t have thoughts that need to be heard. I just can’t understand them.
Finishing up inside and walking out, I immediately started praying for this man. –That God would talk to this man’s heart. –That God would help him find community. –That God would help him understand the language. –That God would make his transition and fears less intense. –That God would be his home and not some building made of brick and wood. But I couldn’t help but smile. I smiled all the way back to the jobsite. I genuinely found care in myself for this man, though all I knew about him was the one phrase he tried to say. Hello, have a nice day.
The timing of this five-second interaction hits me with some irony. Not an hour before, I was telling the bossman how that, while delivering parts to a site in south Monroe, a black man came up to me with a story and a need. I told how this black man walked on up and got on with a story about his wife who had lupus. Oh, and he was a stranger in these areas, just needing a couple of bucks to drive from around the corner where his car was parked to five streets down where his wife was struggling. “Come, on man. Do you have any money I could get?”
“No. All I have is company money, and I would need to account for that.”
This was a lie. In fact, I had $150 bucks on me - and some small change, none of which was company money. It rolled out so easily. I didn’t even catch it myself until he walked away disappointed. Why did I lie to this man? Well, he was a vagrant - and he was going to spend the money on alcohol or drugs. I’m working my butt off here, lifting heavy steel across west Monroe - and that guy… But then the truth hit me, and it was as if God were speaking straight into my liar’s heart. You could’ve said you had nothing to give him, but you didn’t… The reason you lied was because you had already squared him up when you saw him approaching a street away. I would be lying to this post and to myself, if I didn’t admit that, as he was approaching, I said to myself Okay - here comes a guy with a tragic story, a broken down car, a need for gas, and a “do you have five bucks?” request.
Why? So I was right. What if his need was legitimate? Well, you would have been able to tell, I tell myself. But the real truth is that Nathan Didlake lies to those he’s already categorized. More, I justify my responses by the fact I think I’m better than them. I’m the one lifting heavy steel; he’s the one doing nothing but aggravating his own humanity - I’m more honorable with more responsibility.
Then, God’s question became: What if you knew him well? What would he have said instead? You don’t have a clue what’s going on inside his head after he’s finished spending the cheaply garnered five bucks. I do. You don’t. You know nothing about his family, what makes him smile, what makes him scared, what scarred him for life, what his favorite music is, what makes him go numb, what makes him drop over in awe. You know nothing.
For all that’s in me, I can’t speak the languages of two men today. More, two men and their God, for God despises a lying tongue.
For all that’s in me, I will never figure out how God saves a wicked man. I’m no better. I work hard during the day and waste my life in evenings. I could say I’m working on it, but I know I’m doing nothing about it when I use those phrases. I know that heart-felt change comes when I say I used to do that.
God has dealt a fatal blow to me, here. He’s asked for my mornings and evenings that I’ve already given away to… nothing. And for all the nothing I’ve received in return, I hold on and watch my stubborn heart actively choose every other thing but glory. And for every choice, I hear God’s voice asking me just to join him, to spend time with him. But I want to be entertained - and all I need is five bucks because you see my heart was broken and I’m trying to recover, but in order to get from here to there, sometimes, all I need is the five dollar pick me up, so, God, if you could help me. I need to get healed and get on and…
Quite some time ago, my boss, Don Parker, and I went to the Hawg Wild BBQ place right next to this Days Inn here in Monroe, LA, where we’ve been doing a lot of work. The hostess turned out to also be our server - a girl named “Krista.” She was very, very pretty and had a very sweet personality. I started blushing - and actually discovered myself getting scared to talk to her. I had a very good time with her as my server - and when we left, my boss said, “Nathan - you should come see her again! She was really sweet!” I agreed - but didn’t plan on going back. Nervousness, you must understand.
Weeks went by. One night, choosing between Applebees and Hawg Wild, which are right next to each other, I sat in the parking lot and called the BBQ establishment to see if Krista was serving that night. She wasn’t. And that was about as far as it got.
Until today.
A week back, while home in Longview, I admitted to Holly Clark and her boyfriend, Eric Frank, that I had tried to go visit her again. “Debase, isn’t it - to go back to a restaurant just because you thought the server was nice and cute?” Holly was convinced this was not so - and instructed me that such occasions are wonderful, especially if the girl sees the guy in pursuit. Eric also had some encouraging words on the matter, and this bolstered my grit.
Yesterday evening, after 12 hours of nonstop work, I stopped by the Hawg Wild BBQ to see if she was there. She was not. I was dismayed. It took about 10,000 volts of energy just to ask if I could sit in her section. Then, nothing. “She works in the afternoons,” I was told. Dismayed but not sure why, I ate my BBQ (which wasn’t very good anyway) and left.
Then, today happened. Our four-man crew started working on the Chase building in downtown Monroe - but were stopped in the afternoon by another rainy day. Suddenly, a thought-bubble appeared above my head! “It’s the afternoon. Krista is said to work in the afternoon. I should go to Hawg Wild for lunch.”
In I walked, but before I opened the front door, I called Holly Clark and confessed that I felt completely stupid about this. I mean, really - how dumb does a guy have to be to do something like this? The 10K volts were short-circuited last night. Surely, today would be no different. But in I went.
“Hi! Is Krista working today?”
“No. But you get to put up with me! I’m Annabelle!”
“Hello, Annabelle!”
Annabelle was a 30-year old server who looked like a mom, and she was super good at her job, constantly making sure that my drink was filled. Finally, when I had finished my Smokehouse BBQ burger (which, strangely, wasn’t laced with BBQ sauce), she said: “Well, I’ll tell Krista that you came by!”
“Well, she doesn’t know who I am.” I responded. “She served me once before, and I thought she was nice. I work on the road, and I rarely get a chance to talk to nice people - and I take the opportunities I get to do so…”
“That’s great! You should definitely come in, then. You could cheer her up. She’s dating this dude, and it’s got her depressed. I don’t like him at all.” Annabelle said.
“Why not?”
“Well, he’s married and has a baby…”
:::Insert awkward, abrubt fizzling sound here:::
“…And had convinced her that once the baby was born, he’d divorce his wife and be with her. But he’s still with the old lady! And she used to be so happy and bubbly, but now she’s very sad all the time. You should come by and talk with her!”
The score:
TWISTED MEMBERS OF THE FEMALE RACE: 1
NATHAN: 0
I…
Hmph. Don’t know what to say at this point. I feel that door is closed, now. I feel somewhat excited and embarrassed that I had the strength to even try.
Oh well. I have a motorcycle that loves me.
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