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BUSHWHACKERS. Last Sunday this Bible
study group ambushed Terry, one of their own. He had a tough summer.
And, at times, a difficult life, with family, friends, and teachers
telling him nasty things like: “You’ll never amount to anything.” His
Bible study group armed itself with a notebook full of letters to lift
him up. You get to read the letter his wife, Cris, wrote to him. Photo by Stephen M. Miller.
IMAGINE YOUR POLICE MUG SHOT.
That’s
the look my buddy, Terry, held on his face for about 45 minutes during
last Sunday’s Bible study session.
It’s
the expression of Barney Fife without a bullet.
Here’s
what happened.
Our
pastor has been preaching a four-week series of sermons on the power of
words. Preacher that he is, he’s trying to get us to memorize another
Bible verse:
“Do
not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is
helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may
benefit those who listen,” (Ephesians
4:29).
In
the Bible study lesson I taught a couple of weeks ago, I tried to
illustrate that by having my wife read a letter I got from a reader. It
was a lavishly kind letter that praised my books and me as a human
being. It praised me a lot. By the time I finished reading it, I felt
as though it would take only two miracles before I would qualify as St.
Stephen.
While
my wife read the letter to the class, I noticed Terry grabbing a sheet
of paper and writing frantically. We all found out what he was writing
a short time later, during the discussion. He was writing down some of
the rotten words people had used to make him feel lower than toe jam.
It was really hurtful stuff, from family, friends, and teachers. Stuff
like, “You’ll never amount to anything.”
After
class, my buddy told me he had never gotten a letter like the one I
got. That was two Sundays ago.
But
last Sunday, about 15 minutes into the lesson, I reminded my buddy of
what he had said.
“You
said you had never gotten a letter like the one I got. We can fix
that.”
Instantly
I hit the button on my iPad, Bluetooth-linked to a Bose speaker.
That
was the cue. My daughter, making a guest appearance in the Bible study,
stood and faced Terry. She started reading the letter she had
written to him.
She
was crying before she read the first word.
Her
letter talked about how Terry had encouraged her and helped her many
times during her growing up years. I remember one poignant moment
when he recognized in her face that something was going on, even though
we hadn’t told him that she was struggling with a broken heart over a
busted romance. He asked her what was wrong, and she fell into his arms
crying.
In
the classroom, we had a box of tissue on the table. I brought a second
box from my home office, and I pitched it up there. Hands reached
for it instantly. People grabbed tissues from both boxes throughout the
next 45 minutes. That’s how long it took us to get through just some of
the letters.
Every
letter talked about things Terry had done for us and for people we
know: buying shoes for his students at school, buying fertilizer and
putting it on someone’s yard, staining another person’s deck in 100°
weather, and boldly telling three of our Bible study members that he
was praying God would help them break the habit of smoking – two have
stopped, one to go.
I
put together a notebook of letters for Terry. I called it “The
Notebook.”
My
favorite letter in there is the one his wife, Cris, wrote.
Terry
and Cris both gave me permission to let you read her letter.
Cris
couldn’t read the letter to her husband. So I stood and read it for
her.
Only
then did I notice Terry’s Novocain face regain its posture as he began
to quietly weep with the rest of us.
We
read each letter to background music. I read Cris’s letter to the music
of Enya, “A Day
Without Rain.” In case you want to give it a listen while
reading what follows.
A letter to Terry
Dear
Terry,
As
I sit to compose this, I’m overwhelmed with emotion. What I see in you,
what I’ve only recently begun to appreciate, is the truly beautiful
gift you have for bringing God’s warmth to the people you meet.
There’s
an exuberant light that you extend to everyone you come into contact
with. It just tumbles out and engulfs complete strangers. Many of them
are caught unawares. I can see their bewildered smiles as they try to
make sense of this unfamiliar person who seems genuinely interested in
them, lathering them with the hearty laughter, lively conversation, and
more often than not, some random act of kindness.
I’ve
come to realize that this isn’t driven by the innate “friendliness” of
an extrovert, or the easy conversation between kindred spirits, or even
pulpit urgings for outreach. And it isn’t always smooth or
glib–sometimes it can even be a little awkward. But it’s endearing, and
lovely to watch. It has the openness and instant familiarity you tend
to see only in children who aren’t bogged down by self-consciousness or
the need to keep safe social distances.
Every
now and then during these encounters, your unsuspecting stranger would
catch me standing close by and I’d smile so as not to ruin what you’ve
started. But honestly, my heart lags far behind yours in its reach.
It
happened Wednesday. We walk through the door at Burger King: You start
in enthusiastically, with a warm vigorous handshake: “Hey man, how are
you doing? Haven’t seen you for a while. You’re not working here
anymore?”
“No,”
the young man replies, hesitantly, trying to make sense of such an
enthusiastic greeting from a fast-food customer.
Then
he remembers . . . Ah, the friendly man who comes in sometimes.
He
broadens his smile and offers, “Actually. I was just going to the
company across the road to apply for a job. They work with legal
documents.”
“Yes!”
you respond approvingly. “A chance to move forward . . . good, good!”
Still
holding his handshake you put your arm around his back and give a
slight squeeze of the shoulder, beaming encouragingly at him as a big
brother or father would.
I
see him visibly relax, and he immediately succumbs to the simple but
powerful spiritual warmth of another human being.
At
this point I catch his eye and decide to chime in “Good luck. Hope you
get through.”
He
nods and smiles quickly at me. But he’s soon caught off guard, again,
when you regain his gaze and confidently assure him, “I’ll pray for
you, man. I’ll pray that things work out for you.” I didn’t think to
pray for this guy. I was just parroting social niceties. But he could see
that you meant it. And with a hearty “Thank you. Thank you.” he was
off, and we finally placed our order.
—Cris
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