The Peak of Inspiration

Cast thy bread upon the waters, for thou shalt find it after many days.  Ecclesiastes 11:1

I’ll admit to you right off that I don’t know where this will end up.  There have been a few times when I have a fairly good idea what the last paragraph will consist of, and it all falls into place about like I had imagined.  Other times I think I know where my typing will lead me, and when I get there I am not where I expected to be.  Sometimes I am pleasantly surprised and other times a little disappointed.  Writing your thoughts has one distinct advantage.  Once you have typed out your thoughts, you have the opportunity to decide if they are worthy of your audience or the compost pile.  You can’t take back spoken words.  But with written ones, you have a window of opportunity to analyze, edit, and refine.  And then you can decide if you will publish them or watch them disappear while you keep firm pressure on the backspace key.

I’ll try to spare you most of the boring details about the background to this story.  Suffice it to say that I had to do a little warranty work for a customer.  Most of the expense on my part was mileage.  The actual fix turned out to be quite simple.   The customer is one of the good-hearted kind and offered to pay me.  I believed that the fault of the problem lay largely on my shoulders, so I told him I would not charge him anything.  Nevertheless, he pulled out some cash and insisted I take it.  When I got back in the pickup for the drive home, I looked at what I was holding.  Three 20s.

I knew I didn’t deserve that money.  And I wouldn’t say I had any particular conviction or inspiration to do what followed next.  Many times, it doesn’t feel right to spend money selfishly that has been given to me in that manner.  I began to look for a way to pass those 20s on. 

I don’t make a habit of carrying much cash.  I find that I spend it very effortlessly.  More often than not, my wallet is empty.  It wasn’t too difficult to keep track of those three bills. They had the wallet more or less to themselves.

A couple days later, I pulled into the parking lot at the bank.  I noticed a middle-aged lady standing beside an older Chevy pickup.  She was sobbing uncontrollably.  It wasn’t hard to see that she had some tough miles in her rearview.  While I completed by business in the bank, she worked her way over to the vicinity of my pickup.  My path intercepted hers on my way out.  It was difficult for her to speak as her emotions had control of her vocals.  I tried to get a little of her story.  She was originally from Boston.  Had relocated in recent years to Colorado.  Been married for 17 years.  Circumstances had made it necessary for her to leave her husband.  We didn’t get deep enough for me to find out why.  So, she got in the old Chevy, which had only a little gas, and struck out.  She must have left in a hurry.  No money, very few provisions or clothing.  No one to call for help. She was making her way to the homeless shelter in a nearby town, but her gas needle was bouncing on empty, so she stopped in the parking lot hoping for a windfall.  

She asked for a dollar.  I knew that wouldn’t get her far, and those 20s were making some noise, trying to get my attention.  So, I did what they asked, and I put one of them in her hands.  This brought more tears.  She asked if she could hug me.  I told her I would pray for her.  You can too.  Her name is Crystal.  And I have faith that the twenty gave her the courage to face the next hour.  One down, two to go.

The next chance came a few days later.  Like any self-respecting business man, I have an office.  But, I am not my dad.  And my office doesn’t look like his did.  It needs help.  I also have a daughter.  And she organizes and cleans the office periodically.  We haven’t ever agreed on a contract price for this service.  A few dollars here and there when I have them is about all she receives.  On this particular day, I noticed the office had been cleaned, and I heard one of those 20s volunteer to go spend some time with her.  Twenty bucks represents a fair percentage of her assets.  I can spend it and not tell a difference.  And its good for me to see the value of a twenty through another’s eyes.  Two down, one left.

A couple more days passed.  I knew that last 20 had a home, just wasn’t sure when or where I would find it.  Then the phone rang.  I groaned when I read the name on the screen, but I won’t go into the reason for that.  Long story.  This was a Spanish neighbor.  Used to live on the other side of the fence from us.  After a few relocations on our part, we circled back around and now live half a mile down the road from them.  While they aren’t homeless, they have much less than we do.  Her husband retired early due to a heart condition.  She works when she can.  A couple times a month she makes a big batch of tamales and sells them door to door for supplemental income.  She wanted to sell me a dozen.  20$.  Now please understand, I like these tamales.  They are probably as authentic as you can get this side of the line.   But they aren’t as affordable as, say, rice and beans, or bulk hot dogs.  And in today’s economy, the grocery bill merits constant monitoring.  But I had a feeling that last bill would do her more good than it every would me, and it was getting lonely, and wanted to get out.  I said, “yes please”.  Hours later, they were delivered to our doorstep.  Wrapped in foil and smelling like the best part of Mexico.

A hug, a clean office, and a dozen tamales.  Interest gained on a small investment.  And while I highly doubt I’ll see those actual 20s again, maybe by some miracle they will return, just in a different form.  Maybe they’ll circle around, come floating back.  The Good Book says they will.  I’ll be watching for them.