A Knock on the Door (pt. 5)

As I was out front doing a bit of landscaping yesterday, a stranger ambled up the drive. He looked to be in his sixties, with a pot-belly and a wad of chew in his mouth. He pointed toward the house behind ours, and asked a question, which I couldn't quite make out due to his speech impediment. Or maybe just his wad of chew.

I explained that the neighbors were gone. Evicted.

After I failed to get the landlord's number from Yolanda, I ended up tracking it down myself. Gary owns about 160 properties around Des Moines--most of them in low-income neighborhoods. He was even sued by a neighborhood group because of problems with one of his houses. Anyways, I called him up at home and he was friendly enough to me. I found out that Yolanda had been served eviction papers because she was behind on rent. I also told him that the van he had parked on his property had all the windows smashed up in case he didn't know. That was almost three weeks ago now.

The guy with the chew had a baffled look on his face. He told me that he lived a block down the street, on the same side as myself. He pulled out a scratch lottery ticket and showed it to me. Yolanda's name was written on the back of it. He explained that she had come over to his house and left the ticket with him. Told him to keep it for her until she came back for it. It was a winning ticket--worth $100. That was before she was evicted, and she hasn't been back for it yet. She dropped a ring in his yard also. The ticket was no good to him--only the person who won it could cash it.

I told him his guess was as good as mine. He left after some further chit-chat about pies. I wasn't quite sure what he was talking about. He was a strange dude. But I was completely confused as to why Yolanda left him with a $100 lottery ticket. Maybe she didn't want her lendors to know about it. Maybe she was afraid she would lose it. Maybe she was just crazy.

I don't suppose I'll ever know the full story, or what has become of the strange, irresponsible woman and her kids. They are gone now, and the house behind ours is empty again. All that's left is a bulging mailbox, a trash-strewn yard, and a van with the windows busted in. I wonder to myself what will become of her kids. Whether they are in foster-care or with a relative or still with Yolanda. I wonder if she will ever change. It's easy for me to cast a condescending gaze. To think about how much better off I am. Of how terrible it was for them to ask for so much and treat me so badly.

But then I remember. I do the same thing too. Jesus died on a cross for me. He gave all He had for me. And yet there are many times when I must look to Him just like my rude, ungrateful ex-neighbors looked to me. Unthankful and asking for more.

I hope someday Yolanda and her family meet Jesus, who would say to them: "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you."

Friday Musings (in less than 20 minutes)

Before I call it a day, here's my quick takes for the week.

Are you tired of getting 10 credit card offers every day?
I sure am. So you can imagine my excitement when, laying on the blood donation bed this morning, I spied the answer to this ongoing nuisance via a news clip on CNN. Go to OptOutPrescreen.com, fill out a quick online form, and you can be rid of such evil for 5 YEARS!!! I'm all over that offer like rice on white bread.

Alright, alright...enough about my crazy neighbors!
I only have one more post to write in the sad saga. I promise. Then this blog will resume its regularly-scheduled programming. If it ever has been regular.

Watch out. Tiger's back.
Eldred is looking pretty good, sitting at 12-under going into the weekend at the British Open. There are still 36 holes to play, but I don't see anyone catching him. He's showing shades of his old self--the golfer that won 4 majors in a row.

7 minutes left...
I can't think of anything else semi-interesting to say. But if you can get rid of credit-card-junk-mail, what else do you need? I'll be painting tomorrow, and it looks like it will be a beautiful day to do it. Have a good weekend.

A Knock on the Door (pt. 4)

Another knock on the door. In the afternoon, about 10 days ago.

"Did you call the landlord?" Yolanda asked in an angry tone, as I opened the door. Unsure of what she was talking about, I replied that I had not. Things had been a little more quiet for the first week of July, and we hadn't heard much from our backyard neighbors. No kids, no interruptions. It was nice, but I was starting to wonder what was going on. Usually they were everywhere--riding bikes and playing up and down our shared drive, neighbors' lawns, and the sidewalk across the street.

She gave me a disgusted look. "You did too. You called my landlord and complained about the traffic going back to our house."

Now, Yolanda doesn't have a car, but she did get her share of visitors. And at odd hours of the night like 2 am, but I never considered it a big enough nuisance to make a stink about. We did share a drive after all. It was the constant doorbell-ringing and ungrateful attitude that bothered me. So I tried to explain to her again that no, I really did not call the landlord.

She wasn't buying it. "I talked to the landlord. He said it was you. And I can have whoever the **** I want back there." I could feel my blood pressure rising, but tried to stay calm. She started walking away, and added: "You must have called DHS too, complaining about my kids playing in the street at 1:00 in the morning. I can file harassment charges." This was getting to be a little too much. It's probably a good thing that someone called DHS, but yet again, it wasn't me. I followed after her, really growing angry that she would make a threat like that.

"I didn't call the landlord. I didn't call anyone. If I had a problem with you I would talk to you." I said, voice rising. This was true, not so much to the extent that I didn't have a problem with her (which I actually did now), but in that I would talk to her before calling her landlord. If he told her that I complained then the record needed to be set straight. I asked her for the landlord's number. She told me she didn't have it but would get it for me. Maybe she was realizing that I wasn't the one who complained.

Around suppertime I went back to her house to get the number. I also wanted to find out what Yolanda's problem with me was. I wanted to give her a chance to speak her mind, and to tell her that I only wanted to be a good neighbor. And I sure didn't need any trouble from her, whatever that might be. There was a pause before the door opened. One of the children answered the door. "Mom's at the store. What do you want?" I knew it was an excuse not to talk to me, so I told her I would return later. I tried again in a couple hours. No one came to the door, even though I could hear people inside as I approached.

I went back the next evening and the house appeared to be empty. Apparently I wasn't going to get the landlord's number from Yolanda.

(to be continued…)

A Knock on the Door (pt. 3)

Talking to the phone company wasn't the only thing Yolanda failed to do in a speedy manner. One Sunday evening, we returned home after a weekend away. As we were settling into bed, we were jolted by a familiar "ding-dong-ding-dong." I went to the door, grumbling to myself about what they could possibly want, and determined to let them have a piece of my mind. It was 10:30 at night--much to late to be ringing the doorbell.

"Can we have a candle?" the kids asked. After a little more inquiry, I discovered that their power had been shut-off, since they never had it switched over to their name. Fortunately it was May, and the power company was coming the next day. Since they were sitting in a dark house back there, I decided it wasn't the best time to get upset.

Then there was the time the fifteen-year-old son and his cousin came over and asked to borrow a rake. "Sure", my wife said. "Why don't you come through to the garage and I'll grab one for you." On the way through the house, they asked if we had a TV and VCR they could borrow too. An old phone? Sure. Candle? Rake? No problem. TV and VCR? I don't think so.

It's easy to show love to people who appreciate it. When you don't even get a "thank you" it's not so easy. So I couldn't help but begin to feel like "Mr. Wilson" from the "Dennis the Menace" comic strip. Not as old, but just as grumpy.

(to be continued…)

A Knock on the Door (pt. 2)

After I was home, I felt bad for some of the things I had thought about the new family. They were in a new place, without a vehicle, without a phone, and obviously without much money. Jesus told us to help the poor. Jesus told us to love our neighbors. And so I decided to have a good attitude about it, and to do what I could to be like Jesus. Maybe if we could build a relationship, there would be opportunity to show the gospel in both action and word. And so when one of the kids came back to the door a couple hours later needing to use the phone again, I gladly complied.

And then they kept coming over. At least two or three times a day, the doorbell would ring. Not just a single polite "ding-dong", but "ding-dong-ding-dong-ding-dong." In the afternoon. In the evening. As late as 9 or 10 o'clock sometimes. Needless to say, loud doorbells aren't a good thing when you have a newborn. Usually it was one or two of the kids. "Can we use your phone?" they would ask. Generally, they wanted someone to come pick them up, since they didn't have a car. So I would hand them the cordless and wait while they sat on the front steps and talked to their dad or aunt or whoever they were trying to call. "Can you give us a ride?" would be the question if they couldn't get ahold of them.

I know Jesus taught to help the poor, but I came to the conclusion that this doesn't mean being a phone booth or a taxi driver. I told the kids to keep it to one call per day, unless it was something really important. And I found excuses not to give rides. This didn't stop them from coming over, but they must have realized their phone booth was about to close. After a few days their mom came over to borrow the phone to call the phone company. Most people do this right away, but not Yolanda. I got excited the next day when I saw a white truck driving back to their house. Until I realized it was the cable guy. You've gotta have priorities right?

Eventually the line was installed--about a week after they moved in. Except then they needed a phone to plug into it. I had an old one in the basement that I gave them. It was a small price to pay to keep the doorbell quiet.

(to be continued…)

A Knock on the Door

"Can my mom come over and use your phone?" said the girl standing at my front door, a little over two months ago. She looked to be about ten years old, and had just moved into the house behind ours with her mom and three siblings. Wanting to be a good neighbor, I said "Sure! You can use our phone. No problem." So over they came, Yolanda and the rest of her children.

As they sat on our couch, Lauren offered them granola bars, which they gladly accepted. They were obviously poor. The kids had an unkempt look about them, but were in good spirits. Yolanda finished with the phone. "Would you mind giving us a ride?" she asked, in a matter-of-fact tone.

So I drove them across town, to her sister's place, where we picked up her nephew. I didn't ask why he needed to be picked up, but I assumed there was a good reason. As we sat in the car and waited for the nephew to emerge, I found out that Yolanda and her kids had just moved down from Ames, and that it had been a rather hurried affair. They didn't bring much along with them. I didn't want to pry too much. All the kids were back in the car now, four of them crammed in the back seat. I pulled back onto the street, looking forward to eating my supper. "Can we stop at the grocery store on the way home?" Apparently the nephew was hungry.

At this point, I was feeling just a little bit put-out. I'm all for being helpful, but stopping at the grocery store? Since we would pass a gas station on the way home, I told them we could stop there. "Stay in the car", the mother said sternly to the youngest two. A couple minutes later they followed her in to use the bathroom. I sat impatiently in the car.

They returned five minutes later, snacks in tow. The nephew had a carton of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. As they trudged back to their place after I dropped them off, I couldn't help but wonder why they would buy expensive gas station food when they couldn't afford a car. But I guess you can't buy a car with food stamps either.

(to be continued…)

Preaching Christ Alone (pt. 4)

Here is the last of my reflections on Michael Horton's article Preaching Christ Alone, where he lists four problems with preaching today: Moralism, Verse-By-Verse Exposition, Carelessness, and (the topic of this post) The "Christ And..." Syndrome. He writes:

Today, we see this in terms of Christ and America; Christ and Self-Esteem; Christ and Prosperity; Christ and the Republican or Democratic Party; Christ and End-Time Predictions; Christ and Healing; Christ and Marketing and Church Growth; Christ and Traditional Values, and on we could go, until Christ himself becomes little more than an appendage to a religion that can, after all, get on quite well without him. That is not, of course, to say that the evangelical enterprise could do this without some difficulty. After all, every movement needs a mascot. We say we are Christ-centered, but what was the sermon about last Sunday?

How do we slip into a "Christ And..." mentality?
I was listening to a talk by Tim Keller on my iPod today, and he made a terrific point. He contrasted "Religion" and "Gospel" like this:

Religion says... "I obey, therefore I am accepted by God."
Gospel says... "I am accepted by God, therefore I obey."

The default tendency of the human heart is to follow Religion instead of Gospel. We want to work for God's approval. We want to try just a little bit harder so we will be a little more blessed. We can know we are saved by faith alone, but then not live like this is true. Jesus is our Saviour at conversion, but then our own efforts become our new substitute Saviour afterwards. We can embrace a "Christ And..." outlook on life without even realizing it.

What is the antidote to a "Christ And..." mentality?
Go back to the cross. As Horton says: "If the pulpit is not committed to this utter centrality of the Cross [emphasis mine], then our preaching, however, brilliant, is doomed to sterility and failure."

If a sermon is going to have any real life-giving power--the kind of power that comes from Gospel instead of Religion--then we have to preach the cross. The message of the Gospel is that Jesus paid it all, and there's nothing more we can add. Nothing else we can do to earn God's approval. Any obedience, any fruit needs to flow from a love and appreciation of what Jesus has already done.