opportunities missed and taken

The other day I was at Walmart and a young woman caught my eye. It might have been the silver sequence belt and red glitter shoes that made me take notice... but then I noticed something else. Across her back, in two-inch letters, reaching from one shoulder to the other, these words were tattooed:

REMEMBER LOT'S WIFE

I felt God urging me to speak to her, but I didn't. Since then I have wished a thousand times that I had. Partly because I knew God wanted me to... but in all honesty mostly because I am now racked with questions and curiosity. Presumably she is telling us 'Don't look back' but what prompted her to mark herself so permanently (and in such BIG letters)? Does she know Jesus? Is He calling to her and wanted me to play a part? Was there something she was supposed to teach me? Unfortunately I guess I will never know the answers this side of eternity.

Yesterday I was riding my bike down Cedar Avenue. At about Cedar and Shields I spotted a young boy walking along holding two pizzas. God very clearly told me "Go talk to that kid." I looked at him. He was about 12 years old, dark-skinned, cornrows peeking out from a red do-rag, wearing a Raiders jersey and sagging pants. Nothing inordinate. I see dozens of kids like him every day. But I wasn't about to argue with God this time. I kept riding along and watched the boy walk towards the same corner where I was heading. And of course, just as I skidded to a stop he was at precisely the same spot, about a foot from my face. God wasn't taking any chances with me, given my recent history. I looked at the kid and realized I knew him.

His name is Jack. He used to come to Dakota House for about a month. I gave him a pair of shoes once.

"Hey!" we said simultaneously. "Jack!" I exclaimed. His face lit up like a Christmas tree. "You remember me?" he asked incredulously.

So we stood there for a few minutes on that hot street corner, him holding his pizzas and what looked like some sort of ranch dressing in a flimsy plastic container. I straddled my bike and as the cars whizzed by I learned that he had moved about a dozen times since the year or so since I had seen him. I reminded him that God has plans for his life, and to keep looking to Him. He assured me he would, and just before I rode off I asked him where he lives now. He told me his family is moving yet again. I asked him where they were moving.

"Um. I don't know. I barely found out. Uh...it's called Paradise."

It turns out 'Paradise' is the name of an apartment complex and Jack will be attending Wilson, which is just a few blocks away from Dakota House.

Moral of the story? Talk when God tells you to. If I could learn to do that, and only that, oh what a different world I would inhabit.