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."