As we approached the first set of double doors leading to the church, I was one step ahead of him. I held open the door for him, said good morning, and he said thank you.
As we approached the second set of double doors, he passed by me and was a few steps ahead of me. I've seen men do this before--usually because they want to be a gentleman and open the next door. He did open the door, and just as I was opening my mouth to say thank you, he let go, kept walking, and the door slammed in my face.
"Wow," I said to myself. "He must be really lost in thought to be so rude." But no, right then a friend of his called out his name, and he returned the greeting with a hearty hello.
---
A few days later, I went to the beach. It was a perfect beach night, and I had a lot of things on my mind. Something about the water and waves and sand always helps to clarify my thoughts.
Near where I parked my car, there was a man and his wife who were sitting on a bench. The man had only one leg, and his crutches were nearby. They were sharing a cold one ... and did not look much like the people who attend my church.
On my way down to the water, we exchanged a polite nod, and I quickly averted my eyes from the missing leg--and also from their faces. The second time I passed by, after returning to my car to get my beach chair, I again averted my eyes, but the lady said hello. When I left the beach about an hour later, they were still there, and they struck up a conversation with me. The man told me his name was Steve, and reached out to shake my hand. The lady's name was Telly, and she told me they had just moved to Ft. Lauderdale from Massachusetts. After talking for several minutes, I packed up my car and drove off, my heart strangely and unexpectedly warmed.
I wonder…who loved their neighbor as themselves? The man I worshiped with every Sunday and looked to for insights on God’s Word? The beer-drinking, rough-looking couple spending their Saturday night at the beach? Or me?
I know it wasn’t me.
