Autumn has given us a prize. Balmy air. Trees beginning to gild gold. The boys, my nieces and I walk along the river, chasing every moment of this day.
“Should we stop for ice cream?” I ask. There’s a shop nearby, and I have money in my pocket.
When we get there, I go wild and stray from our one-scoop routine. “Order what you like,” I say. Five children wear smiles that beam wide.
Then I see the gentleman. He’s observing with kind, gentle eyes. The kids tilt their heads to read the menu and murmur about M & Ms and hot fudge. But I watch the gentleman watch my kids.
His shoes have seen miles. There’s a hole at the elbow of his shirt. When he smiles, I can see that he’s missing teeth.
But he reaches to his pocket and begins to count bills.
The clerk asks for our order, and the kids share what they would like. The girl rings our total and the gentleman comes near. “I’d like to pay,” he says. “Your children are well behaved and thankful. I want to give them this treat.”
I’m surprised and am not sure of what to do. Tenderness floods my soul. But I’m worried for this man so I stammer and refuse. “That is very kind, Sir. Thank you. But I can’t. There’s too many, and it’s too much.”
“It’s my pleasure,” he says. He pushes the bills forward.
The clerk looks to the gentleman and back to me. The children are looking too, and I can feel my cheeks turn red.
“Thank you,” I say. “I’m grateful. But I can’t. No.”
Embarrassment flushes his face red, too. He stands for a moment, money in hand. The children thank him, and I fish through my pocket for my own bills. When I turn around, he’s gone.
And for the rest of the day, when the children relay the story to my husband, I berate myself for shaming this man. For taking away the blessing of giving. For deciding what he could and could not do.
I even carry it to bed with me, and in the night, I dream and see that man’s face. I wake with agony in my heart, regret pressing hard and my shame filling my soul. I can forgive others, but it is sometimes so hard to forgive myself.
And it’s here that the Spirit meets me.
There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.
It takes a few moments for me to accept this truth. At first I reject it, as I’d rejected the man’s offering. But as I sit, in the hush of the night, I understand that the Lord loves this gentleman. This man is in His care.
I am too.
I’m covered by grace, and I can let go.
And in this, at last, I can find rest.
