Let Him Go

Acts 3

Peter said (to the begging crippled man), "Look at us!"

So the man gave them his attention,

expecting to get something from them.

Then Peter said,

"Silver or gold I do not have,

but what I have I give you.

In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, walk."

Taking him by the right hand,

he helped him up,

and instantly the man's feet and ankles became strong.

He jumped to his feet and began to walk...

Our early evening dog walk has landed us at the local video store. My husband is inside, scouring the shelves for something that will interest us both. I'm outside, warm urban air swirling around me, dogs at my feet, waiting. Waiting and lost in thought, mildly aware of the dozens of people going in and out of the liquor store adjoining the movie shop. Vaguely cognizant of the cars moving through the parking lot. Bored. Waiting.

And then he catches my eye. A man of some height, thirty-something, in loose, light cotton shirt and pants, nutbrown, watchful. Signs of mental illness or developmental delay. He's scratching. Incessantly. Scratching his tummy, his legs, his arms, neck, and backside. Our eyes meet and I smile. He grins and moves on, suddenly turning back to quietly ask for cigarette. I don't have one. I tell him so. "Sorry," I say. "I don't have one. I have nothing for you."

I have nothing for you. But the whisper voice of God is saying something different, "I don't have a smoke, but what I do have, I give to you. In the name of Jesus..."

I quell the God thought. I quiet the God thought because the alternative is aggressive, pursuing, provoking, strong.

A split second of decision time: Call him back the Jesus in me urges. No way! the Me in me replies.

Call him back for what? What would I say? What would I offer of Christ? I don't know. I'm inexperienced, unpracticed, wobbly in my faith.

I let him go. No cigarette. No Jesus.

I let him go.