Broken Spokes

I think Mike is one of the only encounters we've had that has left me feeling off ~ misused, maybe? Unsafe? Our oldest kiddo, Ben, was impacted differently by him, too, because, he said, "I could feel that he was afraid. Not afraid of us, maybe, but afraid."

Mike was afraid. And brain injured. And filthy and desperate and aggressive. He cheerfully and loudly shouted for our attention as the five of us made our way through a department store parking lot. We'd made some snack purchases for the evening and picked up some new dvd's for the very long road back to Canada. Mike, laying beside his well-worn peddle bike, leaned back toward us and loudly explained that he had a "brand new" mp3 player he'd like to sell. Would we be interested?

We weren't interested in the player. But we were interested in Mike, and his story did not disappoint (a career as a novelist would be a good option for our new friend, I think). He shamefacedly -- and proudly -- showed the scars of violent beatings and mishaps and poor judgment. He talked about his family (all rich, he crowed, with boats and mansions and the like) and pulled their photos, carefully sheathed in hard plastic, out of his souring backpack.

Mike talked about his mom a lot. He wondered if we could maybe give her a call sometime, just to let her know that he was okay? He'd turn to the boys, and talk about the dangers of alcohol and drug abuse, "One beer, boys. That's all it takes. One drink and it could all be over." The boys were polite, detached. They've grown accustomed to the peculiarities of our parking lot connections. They nodded their silent agreement as he admonished them not to disappoint their mom.

What did he need, we asked. Just $350.00 to fix the spokes on his bike. He needed his bike bad. It was his only way to get around. We said that we wanted to help and that maybe we could start with just enough to get some supper in him? Sure, sure. Yeah. 'Cause he didn't really need money, he said, he just needed to talk to his mom.

We slipped him a dirty American bill. Two beer, he said. I'm going to get two beer with this and then the rest I'll use for...he trailed off into another reminder to the boys to stay sober, like he'd been sober for the past couple of years, he said (I'm not sure why sobriety is always measured in 2 weeks, 2 years, 2 months, but it is. There must be some magic to the telling of such a tale that requires the use of that particular number?).

Mike could have talked for hours, but we urged him on to find some dinner and made our own way back to our car -- with all it's spokes intact. But we didn't shake Mike off so easily. We felt him with us in the days ahead, almost expecting him to turn up in another lot offering another bit of electronic wizardry to tempt our pocket books.

Vacation over, we finally pointed the nose of our car toward home several days later, but we continued to be mindful of him (and the many others that we had the honor to meet in the U.S.). When we handed Mike the cash he said something interesting: This is enough. If this is what you're giving then it's enough. See? he said, patting the giant metal crosses dangling from his neck, I know about this God thing.

We crossed State lines considering that thought, alternately agreeing and disagreeing with it. A few dollars is enough: it meets an immediate, felt need. But it is most certainly not enough: the need in the lives of our neighbors, acquaintances, encounters goes so far beyond anything that can be touched by a twonie or a twenty.

So, we're determined to learn what, exactly, it is that Jesus has to offer in these fleeting conversations. If their needs are pinpointed, will the God of Creation hear their prayer to have those needs met? Freedom? Healing? Restored minds, hope, purpose?

Mike's parting handshake was soiled and rough and firm. He'll forget us. He probably forgot us within hours of our meeting. But he will not be forgotten. We'll absorb his story into our own and let him teach us more about how Jesus uses one to reach toward another with hope that extends far beyond two beer and a phone call home to Mom.