Eight
The shifting of weight from someone behind me had me flicking a glance over my shoulder. Ken stood catty-corner to my left, feet apart, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips.
He sighed. “These situations always make me uncomfortable.”
I followed his line of sight, not understanding how Landon helping and praying for a man brought so low could make him uncomfortable. Unfortunately, men and women on the side of the road with signs asking for help wasn’t anything new. In Seattle, walking down a single block would bring you in contact with those less fortunate. It made me sad. Made me wish there was more I could do to help.
All right, sure, I’ll admit it. On occasion it made me uncomfortable too. But isn’t feeling a little discomfort good sometimes? We need to be shaken up by humanity’s plight, or soon we’ll all be sitting in sterile white boxes focused too much on ourselves and not enough on others.
Ken’s a preacher. He should know this. Didn’t Jesus say to feed the hungry? And what happened to the golden rule? And being His hands and feet? And all those other Christian-ese phrases church-goers spouted?
Ken took a piece of cloth from his pocket and ran it over his shining head. “I mean, how do we know that man isn’t going to take the money and buy drugs or beer or something? How do we know he doesn’t secretly live in some fancy house and he’s scamming hard working people out of the money they’ve earned from their own labor?”
I turned to him slowly. Did those things happen? Probably. Should it stop people from helping others? Absolutely not.
“And how do we know he isn’t a war veteran struggling with the horrible things he’s lived through?” I countered softly. “Or someone who’s made some bad decisions in his past and can no longer get a job because of a felony on his record? Or someone suffering from a mental illness that makes it impossible to work?”
Ken’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the beggar man. What did he think? That if he looked hard enough, he could discern the man’s past and then deem him worthy?
I sucked in a full breath, ready to hammer him with scripture. A tiny piece of me celebrated that he’d opened the door for me to vocally berate him over something. I mean, I had been holding back my sarcasm for a while, and even though I’d promised Claire not to get into a discussion with her future father-in-law about whether or not he deemed my sister worthy of his son, I had made no such promise about giving the man a piece of my mind on other topics.
Just as I opened my mouth to let him have it, he held up his hands.
“You know what? You’re right. Jesus never asked for a drug screening before He performed a miracle on someone. And He poured out his blessings on both Jewish citizens and the gentile unbelievers outside their gates. And don’t you think when He said ‘the least of these’, He must have meant the people who had fallen to the deepest part of the pit they couldn’t get out of?” He turned his gaze to me, embarrassment lining his eyes as he shook his head. “I’m sorry. Being the head of a large church, one with a lot of money flowing through the collection plate, I’ve seen and heard those trying to take advantage. I guess it’s colored my view sometimes.”
My jaw slammed shut so tight my teeth rattled in my head. What had just happened? Had he really turned his view so quickly? Actually apologized for his jadedness?
But—
I mentally sputtered. In my experience, church-goers didn’t listen to someone with a differing perspective. They didn’t keep an open mind, tending more to dig their heels in and staunchly hold to what they’ve always been told to believe. They didn’t accept those with a different story than their own.
Happened to me. To Parker. Stamp on a label and then shun us. Act like we hadn’t been sitting in the same pew as them for the past decade. Like we had the plague…or a scarlet letter.
Wasn’t that why Landon and I were in this situation to begin with? Because if Ken Abrams knew I was divorced, he’d deem Claire unfit for his son?
But here he was, listening to another side of the story, considering another perspective, admitting that maybe his view wasn’t the Holy Grail to live by.
Landon walked up and joined us, and Ken held out his hand for Landon to shake. “Real proud of you, son. You’re a shining light to someone in a dark place,” he said.
Landon shrugged the compliment off, and Annie saved him further embarrassment by ushering us all toward the vendors.
As I feared, we all coupled off. Ken and Annie took the lead, and Noah and Claire followed in the middle, which left me walking much too closely beside Landon. Woodsy scent drifted off his warm body, reminding me of crackling campfires and snuggling under a sleeping bag made for two.
I took that many steps to the side. Unfortunately, Landon followed.
He ducked his head and asked quietly, “What was that about with Ken? He seemed disapproving when I looked over while talking with Mike.”
Ken’s bushy brows had been furrowed, though I was surprised Landon had been able to see it. “He was afraid you were being taken advantage of.”
“By Mike?” He sounded incredulous.
I nodded.
Landon’s jaw tightened. “Two tours in Iraq, two more in Afghanistan, and this is how his country repays him.” He stared forward, straight into the back of Ken’s head.
I reached out and touched his arm, afraid he’d somehow be able to burn a hole through Ken’s skull with his glare alone. “Actually, I told him—”
But I never did get to tell Landon what I’d told Ken and what Ken then told me. Annie chose that moment to pull me aside and ask about the differences between heirloom tomato plants and grape tomato plants. She wanted to know which flowers and vegetables would grow best at her place in Texas. I silently wondered why she didn’t go to a nursery and ask experts more familiar with Texas soil, sunlight, and flora, but I held my tongue. Instead I explained how, if she wanted to grow heirlooms, she’d need to pick a regional variety. That they’d need stakes to grow, and that mulch beneath the plants would help protect them from disease.
