1-15-21
Dear Bill,
We have never met, but I feel moved by my spirit to share a story with you. I met your sister Shelly today and we had a lovely visit that I hope to always remember. She seems like a wonderful person. We discussed our families and I was quite fascinated by the coincidence that we both come from families with 5 children. I have an older brother and 3 younger sisters. I’m turning 60 soon and as I asked Shelly a little about you, learning of your situation took me back to a time in my own life when I was very close to living outside the norm. Since meeting Shelly, I have been reliving my own experience and feeling the beauty of how God has redeemed my life through events that only a higher power can do. In my mid-thirties I had a number of years, when I was one step away from living on the streets. I went back to a time in my own life when participating in the crazy lifestyle, that I saw everyone else living, no longer made sense to me. I didn’t do well and went from job to job, trying to fit in, but forever battling a voice from within that was calling me away from what little I had. The one thing that I did have was the love of a beautiful woman, who stood by me and continued to believe in me through all of the choices I made. Sometimes the choices I made were a part of a losing battle that I was having with a serious mental health condition. Often, I needed some tough love.
One time my wife and I were driving somewhere, and we got into a fight. I became too difficult for her to be around and so she needed to be away from me for a while. We were driving in our car at the time and I must have been raving out of control, so she pulled the car over to the curb and dropped me off right there. She asked me for my wallet so that I would not go out and spend all our money and she let me take my guitar, which had been stashed away in the boot of our navy blue Subaru, which we were driving. Now I was alone on the street with no money, no car and no keys to get back into our apartment. I didn’t even have change to make a phone call.
We lived in Portland, Oregon at the time and I was all the way across the river, about ten miles away from my apartment. It seemed that I had nowhere to go and it was midafternoon. I decided… To hell with this! I’m going to just walk to my brother’s house. My brother lived in Edmonds, WA, which was about 120 miles away, but I didn’t care. I started walking North and after about an hour I came to a busy highway. There was an overpass with no shoulder, and as I walked along the edge of the road cars were whizzing past me, dangerously close. It was getting cold. I had no food or water with me. Little by little I realized that I would never make it to Edmonds, and I turned back toward Portland but with no idea where to go.
After a while I stopped and stood in the entryway of an old shoe factory, waiting for God knows what. Realizing that I had my guitar, I decided to pull it out and play a few of the old songs that I had learned over the years. I was just sitting there playing and singing to myself on a cool fall day. Very few people were around but once in a while I would hope that a rare passerby would toss a little change in my case, but none did. It was getting cold and I didn’t stay there long. Finally, I just walked on again. As I walked along through this particular industrial neighborhood, I passed a building that I knew. It was a packaging distributor that I used to call on when I worked as a manufacturer’s rep, selling plastic bags for Bay Packaging.
Of all things, I saw a man that I knew. He was just leaving work and getting into his pickup. He saw me and walked over to talk to me. He was a cool guy, fortyish, with Irish characteristics, sporting wavy red hair, a pale complexion, and freckles. His name was John. He asked me what I was doing there, walking around with my guitar, and as I tried to explain it to him, he said to me… “Why don’t we go inside, where it’s warm, and have a visit?” I followed him inside and he offered me something to drink, which I accepted, and we had a friendly conversation about the times that I had called on him, what I had been up to since then and what I was doing with myself these days. He listened to the story of my marriage and all the jobs that I had gone through since I had last seen him. He looked at me until he had my total attention and then said, “Mark, maybe you should try doing some work with your hands.” He asked me where I was going and I told him that I did not know. He pondered my situation for a moment, and looking into my eyes and with the most compassionate expression, he said… “Why don’t I take you home?”
“But I can’t go home,” I said. “I don’t have a key.”
“Well, can you get a key?” John asked calmly.
I thought for a moment and then realized that the office at my building could probably let me in, if I asked. “I think I can get let in,” I replied, and soon we went out to John’s old white chevy S10 pickup, tossed my guitar in the bed, climbed in and made our way across town. We were on the East side of Portland and there were several bridges that crossed the Willamette river. We took the central bridge across the river, drove through downtown and headed up the street toward the Vista St. Claire apartment building, a 20-story high rise that had been built halfway up a mountain, overlooking the city, with a stunning view of Mt. Hood. It was an older building that had been built before Portland had become today’s more sprawling and congested metropolis with all of its suburbs.
Once we arrived at my building, John came in with me to make sure that I was able to get into my apartment. The building manger was in the office and lent me a key. I went to my apartment, unlocked it and went inside just long enough to enter the bathroom and check for some medicine that I had been needing to take. I’ll talk about that later but suffice it to say that I needed this medicine every day to be OK, and at this moment the pill bottle was empty. Oh no! I thought, in a momentary panic. I have no money to buy this until my wife comes back. My mind started racing, but I tried to bring myself back to the moment at hand. I left the apartment, walked down the pale-yellow hallway, and returned the key to the manager. I then went to say goodbye to John and thank him for bringing me home.
John had been patiently waiting for me in the lobby for the few minutes that it had taken me to go to my room and back. When I returned to him with a dismayed look on my face he asked if I had been able to get in and when I said I had he then asked me if I was OK. I thought for a moment about my hopeless situation. I needed my wallet and that was all I could think about. The thought of asking John for money never even crossed my mind because I was so focused on my own fear. I was so scared about what might happen without the medicine that all I could think was that there was no solution. I was stuck.
“I’m sorry… thanks to you I am safe for now, but I have run out of a medicine that I need, and my wife has my wallet, so there is no way for me to purchase it.” All of the worst-case thoughts of what would probably happen filled my mind and I could hardly pay attention as John spoke to me. Again, as he looked at me, his gaze was gentle but intense and with his kind blue eyes he uttered seven words, a beautiful quotation that has been etched in my mind for a quarter of a century now.
“Why don’t I just GIVE you fifty dollars?” John said to me, with the ultimate expression of concern and sincerity. As he spoke, he reached into his wallet, pulled out a faded fifty-dollar bill and held it out to me. Somehow, between the way he looked at me, the way he spoke, and his very gesture, I became overwhelmed by the overall circumstances. The unexpected way that God had reached out to provide for me in my time of desperation was truly quite beautiful. Thoughts of the extraordinary design of his plan astounded me. The intricate design of the entire day… Losing everything, being lost and alone, out in the cold and all but without hope… I had nowhere to go. Then God showed me how an ordinary man could act like a saint by taking time to listen to me. He gave me a drink, warmth, and mercy. He delivered me to my home and provided for my needs. Tears welled up in my eyes and would not hold back. A single drop dripped from my right lower eyelash and then one from the left. Those moist, sweet drops turned into gentle streams flowing down my cheeks, into my lips, over my chin and down my neck.
I was touched. I felt vulnerable, yet safe. I made a feeble effort to wipe the tears with the backs of my hands as I thanked John and said I was OK now. He shook my hand gently and said a humble goodbye, as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary. I made my way back to my room as the tears continued to flow. Not tears of pain or sorrow, but the tears that come rarely when one realizes the power and the mercy of The Blessed Beauty, the one true Creator that we all share. The Universe of Power that can touch entire worlds with the fanning of one eyelash had taken time to create an entire series of events, so tiny and detailed as to gently touch the life of a single, miniscule, middle aged, lost and broken man living a confused existence… A single person in a planet of billions of souls. As I sat on the floor of my unlit apartment, I stroked the water resistant, black woven fabric of the sturdy guitar case that had travelled around the country with me a few years earlier, strapped to the back of a burgundy Honda V45 Magna.
Words and a melody started flowing through me. I unbuckled the four chrome clasps, opened the case and pulled out the blonde and cherry red 12 string guitar that my father had given to my extraordinarily talented sister, Jeani, when she was 11 years old. I loved to sing and when I was eighteen, she had given it to me and taught me a few chords and a finger picking pattern. I never had gotten very good at playing it and wound up taking off six of the strings to make it into a regular guitar. That old guitar helped me to capture the essence of that moment… G C G D G… The gentle flowing rhythm plucked one string at a time and the thoughts that floated through my mind joined gracefully, as a deeply personal tune, that was to comfort me many times, worked it’s way through me. Here are the words:
Know me
Now that I’ve been living this way for all these years
It’s time that I come forward and say that I can confirm your words
I looked for my savior until I found him in a stranger
Found him in a friend and then I found him in the mirror
And all of you who see me now
Are living in my father’s home again
As we all grow and become more aware
Words can’t express the love we’ll share my friends
Know me
Look into these eyes that cried your tears
Look upon this face that shines your joy
Know that I’ve returned and I am here
Jesus Christ is living in this boy
Know me
Sometimes when I reach out my hand, one of you takes it
I see you the first time, as I melt into your eyes
Whenever I feel lost, one of you always comes finds me
It feels like I’m ready to just lay down this cross
And all of you who see me now
Are living in my father’s home again
As we all grow and become more aware
Words can’t express the love we share my friends
Know me
Look into these eyes that cried your tears
Look upon this face that shines your joy
Know that I’ve returned and I am here
Jesus Christ is living in this boy
Know me
Instrumental
Just look upon these hands that do your work
And look upon these feet that bear your scars
Let he who can’t see open up your eyes
If you can’t feel my love, open up your heart
Know me
Look into these eyes that cried your tears
Look upon this face that shines your joy
Know that I’ve returned and I am here
Jesus Christ is living in this boy
Know me
Know me, know me, know me, know me
Of course, Bill, I know that we have never met. I have only Just met Shelly and I know little about you so perhaps this letter is not even welcome. I am aware that you might be completely content in every way and in need of nothing. On the other hand, your needs may be great. Perhaps this story is not one that resonates with you but learning from a new friend that she has a beloved brother, who is living by choice or by whatever circumstances, on the streets, brought the memory of this story back to me. I do not dwell in the past, but today I did pay my past a rather extensive visit. The memory causes me to feel tremendous gratitude to the one who restores my life every day and gives me hope for the future of all of us. Thinking of that day with John reminds me of the time I was in need and my spirit was touched by a kind soul and a fifty-dollar bill. After reliving these emotions and sharing them with you, I wonder if you would mind letting me pay this forward from John to you? I am in your debt and may you have a transformative 2021.
From a friend,