"I cannot guess what we'll discoverWe turn the dirt with our palms cupped like shovelsBut I know our filthy hands can wash one another’sAnd not one speck will remain."Death Cab for Cutie - Soul Meets BodyI like noise. I seem to revel in music and community so much that life tends to get drowned out by the ambiance. Something about distraction is soothing, I guess.
I sort of get drunk on loud focusing. It clears my head better than silence because I'm just uncomfortable there. For some reason, I'm wired to figure my life's problems out better through a little bit of a haze. I think the buzzing directs me to one thing, and when there's utter quiet, my brain is left to wander...most of the time to dark places I'm not terribly excited about visiting.
So, it's both surprising and fitting that God speaks most clearly to me in a thin little voice that cuts through the clutter. I guess you could think of it like hearing someone call your name faintly in the middle of a supermarket. You know what I'm talking about.
"Ally," mingles with overbearing muzak and a woman talking too loud on her cell phone. I turn around. Nothing. Keep walking down the aisle. Pick up the new natural peanut butter I swore I'd never try. I should really pick up some brea-"ALLY." More emphatic this time, I KNOW there's someone there. I can barely hear Phil Collins. Someone's talking to me.
Now, usually my revelation doesn't come in a supermarket, but stuff hits me like that and shakes me out of my anxiety-ridden thought bubble. My brain is usually preoccupied with buying something, being someone, or reliving something that I can't change.
So when God cuts through that messiness and imparts some wisdom, it has a tendency to stick to the marrow of my bones like plaque. I have to address it or I get so anxious, I feel sick.
About two weeks ago, my friends and I very serendipitously found a newly homeless couple that desperately needed some furniture to spruce up their new domicile. I went with Elizabeth, who was moving that weekend and generously ponyed up an unneeded couch, and her friend Chris to deliver the goods.
April walked out. She had to be a few years older than me. Slight at one time, her six-month pregnant belly protruded, stretching her white cotton shirt beyond the limits of fabric's endurance. Her teeth were worn at the gum line with what I assumed to be the after-effects of a sabbatical with drugs. I was dumbstruck by the differentness of our existences.
After we unloaded a few things, she casually asked if we had any pots and pans to kick in. At the time, the question seemed casual and off-the-cuff, but it haunted me for the next three days like I'd heard a woman begging for her life.
It appeared that God had cut through the clutter of Africa, my impassioned search for new music, and whatever bullshit I thought was more pressing. There was a simple effort that could help her.
So, in a selfish effort to silence the small voice in my head and make it go away, I shot out a quick email to my friends. Lighting sparked. My friends were eager to help. Heartland (my old church) kicked in a crib, a bunch of clothing, a TV and whatever else they could need.
On Saturday we took it down. We filled a truck and Cass's car with food, furniture and other things I take for granted. They already had some of it, so they'll probably give some things to neighbors who need it more. They were appreciative, but I think people expect these situations to be sky parting, rockstar moments, full of generous praise and humble thanks for the good you did.
The thing is, I really didn't expect that, so I wasn't disappointed, but it was interesting to think about what we think someone's reaction SHOULD be.
I know that Robert and April needed some stuff, and I'm just happy that I know God enough to listen when he cuts through my crap, and encourages me to deliver it. I don't think I'm any more or less noble for doing it, but it just renews my hope that we can make some sort of difference...when we listen and do something.
It was just a small idea that PEOPLE latched on to. In essence, it was no different than throwing $2 in an offering or kicking extra change to the Salvation Army at Christmas. To be real, I didn't have anything to give except some sort of idealist, tree-hugging, liberal urge to try and help people in poverty in my community. That's what God's done to me. It's like breathing.
I used to try and come up with stuff like this to do on my own. It makes me feel good to help people. Now, God surprises me with some crafty sort of trickery and provides the answer to a prayer someone threw up in the 4th quarter. He delivers on prayers for me all the time, so I shouldn't be surprised that he does it for other people that have much more crucial needs.
So, I guess I'm just continually surprised by how cool God is. He could have divined manna to fall from the sky or made this couple win the lottery. Instead, I think it makes him happy to let us have some sort of gratification that we're a part of the circle of life.
I've got it good. I have a nice things, a really full refrigerator, and a laptop computer I'm typing this on right now. My parents would bail me out if things got rough. These people didn't have that, and it makes me happy to know that we're accountable to share some of the stuff we have...even if it's just initiative to organize, and an inspiration from the tiniest voice of our creator.
Today's soundtrack: Soul Meets Body - Death Cab for Cutie - Plans
