BLESSINGS FROM THE JUNK YARD

 BLESSINGS FROM THE JUNK YARD

 

Over the 29 years in which I have worked for Chilton County EMA, very seldom have I taken all the vacation time which I have been allowed.  Usually it works out that at the beginning of December I will ask how many days I have and then over the month I will take that many days off.   

Such was the case last week.  It was a take it or lose it vacation day and so I thought I’d get a few little things done around the farm.  I planned on hauling off some scrap iron and making enough money to pay for a used tire and used battery for my old 81 Ford truck. 

 As I prayed that morning I was completely aware that I wasn’t going to see that many people that day.  I think it was by design.  I have a better vacation when no one else is around….ha.  But I prayed my usual prayer, “Lord, help me be a blessing to someone today”, Doubting, hoping, I wouldn’t have the opportunity. 

I  arrived at the scrap yard and as the girl was weighing my load I asked her about her dad who was the owner of the scrap yard.  He had a stroke over a year ago and had not been doing well.  She was excited to tell me that although he had not regained his ability to talk yet, that he was attending church every time the doors were open and that he was attempting to say grace at each meal.  I was very glad for that news and left the yard thanking God for helping him and drawing him closer. 

My next stop was at the used tire place.  The old man who owns this place has had many medical malady’s and is  only operating off 40% of his heart now.  I have mentioned to him on occasion how that he needs to focus on getting his heart right with God with little or no response. 

This morning, sitting off  to the side of the shop was the old owner and a couple of other folk.  I waved and spoke a general good morning as the men started working on my tire.  One of the guys sitting there impressed me as being a “meth-monkey”, a “crack-head” or some such.  Although the day was warm and I was wearing a t-shirt, this poor soul was bundled in a hooded jacket and seemed to be freezing.  He was frail and you could only see a small portion of his tan, wrinkled face through the front of his hoody.

I had no reason to talk to him.  I didn’t know him.  But that did not stop him from walking over to stand in front of me and begin a conversation.  “

Oh, great!  Just what I need”.

As our conversation continued he somehow mentioned the name of the guy at the scrap yard.  I told him that I had just came from there and how the guy was doing.  I guess I thought that was a good “Christian-eez” thing to do. 

“He and I have been going through the same sort of thing”, the guy  said.  “I have been dealing with throat cancer.  The chemo and radiation have been eating me up”. 

Now I felt really  bad.  I had labeled him as a drug abuser when in fact he was dealing with a serious condition. 

“Well, how long have you been over your cancer”, I asked.

“I’m not”.  He said bluntly.  Just a short time ago the doctor did a bunch of test and told me I have lung cancer and only have about 90 days to live. 

Now what do I say?  “Well, sometimes God gives us times like that to make sure our hearts are right with Him”.  I’m reaching, trying to share a Christian view of this with this old guy.  (Honestly, I doubt he is my age.)

“I’ve already done that”, he said.  Now the little slits that were used for eyes were open wide and I could see his big ole brown eyes.  In the corner of one a big ole tear drop formed.  He begin to tell me how that it was only by the blood of Jesus that he could ever expect to make it to heaven.  He told me how blessed he was. 

We talked about heaven, and mercy and grace and peace.  He spoke of how his children didn’t understand the peace and desire he had to just “go home”. 

Obviously, this little guy didn’t own a handkerchief because he was now wiping his nose on his sleeve.  The tears now came out of his eyes and made their way like a steel ball in a pin ball machine down through the tracks and wrinkles in his face finally falling off his cheek onto his old coat. 

I thought to myself that  I was standing here talking to a man who in 90 days or so  would be walking in a place called paradise. 

I reached out and patted him on the shoulder.  “Thank you for sharing your story with me today”, I said.  “You have been a real blessing to me”. 

We exchanged names and I left him standing there amongst the old tires and the grease.  I doubt that I’ll ever see him again this side of heaven.  But I hope that someday I will walk up to him and thank him again for sharing his story with me. He will never know how much he blessed me today. 

No Lord, I wasn’t much of a blessing today.  You blessed me with the good news from others. 

I have said recently that our nation and our world is “going to hell in a hand basket”, ( I have no idea what that phrase means, do you?)   But I have been given hope today.  Hope from an old junk man who tries to say the blessing even when he can’t talk, and hope from a dying man who is in ear shot of home. 

Let the world do what it will.  Let this nation run its course.  God is still on the throne and Jesus sits at His right hand and souls are being saved and lives are being changed.  And that my friend is why you and I cannot give up or give in. 

Try to be a blessing, try to tell someone about Jesus.  You might just find yourself on the receiving end of the deal.