God bless you...and me

I'm a bit reluctant sharing the following scenarios, but here goes:

Friday, during the course of my work duties, I'm looking for an office, somewhere near, let's say, the Stockyards. Though I've found the address, it appears to have multiple tenants. As I approach the building, I'm trying to determine where I might find my party. A man sitting on the front driveway curb, slightly disheveled but not ragged, offers: "There's a stairway around the corner leading to a door upstairs."

I followed his directions and gained access to the building, finding that the fellow I was looking for no longer officed there.

Passing the man on the way back to my car, we exchanged brief pleasantries about the beautiful weather. Back in my car, I was making notes detailing my visit when I saw the man approach, and I rolled down the window.

He held out his hand, not in a way that would cause alarm, and shook some change around. "Mister, could you spare some change so I could buy a burger?"

I don't smoke, so my ashtray is instead amply populated with all the standard denominations of American coinage. I thought about getting several out. But I remembered that I had some crisp dollar bills in the console, change from some drive-through purchase, and I gave him those instead.

"Thank you, sir, God bless you!"


Saturday, my sons and I went to the other side of the world (east of Dallas) to pick up some furniture. On the return trip, the low fuel indicator came on in our borrowed pickup. Since Dodge V-10s don't get such great gas mileage, I didn't know how far I had before I have to use my thumb, so I started looking for a station, only there aren't any along that stretch of the C. F. Hawn Freeway. I finally found a convenience store, selling gas at about 35¢ over the going rate. I didn't really want to stop in this part of town, and don't like to be gouged, but I figured it was better than running out of gas there.

As we pulled in, it felt like all eyes were on us. I'm not racist, but I carry the memory of a former co-worker's son who was killed in a carjacking about fifteen years ago not too far from there. So I discreetly handed my older son, who was in the back seat, a small package from the console (I am a CHL permittee). "Cover me if I need it."

I got out and a middle-aged gentleman, from out of nowhere, is holding the pump hose and reaching for the filler door of the truck. "How much you gonna get?"

"Ten dollars."

"You just go ahead and pay inside, I'll pump it for you."

I went inside and paid my $10, slightly surprised to find the owners appeared to be Korean, since no one outside was. On returning outside, the man pumping my gas began a conversation.

"You moving a desk?"

"A dresser, actually."

"Those your boys in the truck?"

"Yep. They're really good kids."

"I could tell they are."

"They play any sports?"

"The one in the front plays basketball at school."

"Is he pretty good?"

"Not too bad."

"I'm gettin' back on my feet after surgery." [Lifts his shirt as if to show a scar, like LBJ] "Just trying to earn some money for a meal."

As it hadn't taken long to put $10 in the behemoth's tank, I fumbled in my pocket and put a bill in his hand as he put the hose away.

"God Bless you."

As we drove away, we pondered whether the man worked for the filling station, or just freelanced there for tips.


At the beginning I mentioned reluctance in relating these stories, for several reasons. I'm not sure what, if any significance, they portend. Was I right in being concerned and possibly distrustful in the second story?

Both of these men gave their wishes for God's blessings to me. Just words, possibly cynicism you might say? Perhaps. But, Matthew 25: 40-46 speaks of our actions toward our fellow man as the same as for Christ.

And, in the end, I wonder: Were these men among the least whom the Lord commands us to help?

Or am I the one they helped?