When the enterprising student came through the library selling tickets to a fund raising event to help send students on a missions trip, I was happy to comply. I bought a ticket both because I am in favor of the mission trip and because I really like StickyLips BBQ! I was looking forward to a delicious dinner to tide me over on a Wednesday evening while I am working at the reference desk. I pictured a quiet repast in a sunny spot outdoors in the gorgeous weather just before going on duty.
Best plans often go awry and tonight was no exception. I got caught up working with a student and had no time to pick up my dinner much less eat it before 5 pm rolled around. No problem. Drew is coming in to do some school work and I can ask him to go collect my dinner. Of course, that means I will be sharing my dinner with Drew, but that's OK. Its always more than I can eat, and includes things I can't eat like corn. I am content to share.
But then, I am at the desk working with a student who I know is financially pressed. Moreover, she has had a challenging life and has gone through more in her short number of years than most people endure in a lifetime. Drew approaches the desk and tells me how great it smells out there with the BBQ. The student next to me goes crazy and starts talking about how much she wants BBQ and how hungry she is and how she tried to get a ticket but couldn't and how she begged them to just give her a taste. It is an outright plea for me to pony up and get her some BBQ. She is practically drooling.
But I only have one ticket, and Drew and I were planning to share. There are no more tickets available because the student already asked. They have just enough for the ticket holders because they already sold their excess. I kibbutz. I argue with myself. I am horrible. I am unwilling to extend a hand of mercy. I am hungry too. So is Drew. But I know in my heart of hearts that I can go home and rustle up a meal when I get off duty. I am not so sure the student can. I think she probably can, but I know what it is to be poor and unable to afford good food.
The opportunity is gone before I have a chance to finish working through my dilemma. The student has to leave. She exits the front door of the library and I am ashamed of myself for withholding when it was within my power to do something about a situation. I want to call her back and hand her the ticket, then send Drew for something else, but it is too late. She is gone.
Dear God, forgive me. I am so sorry. All the while Drew and I are sharing dinner, I am heavy hearted. I am the rich man ignoring the beggar Lazarus. I am stupid and hard hearted. I agonize over it for some time. I could have fed Christ, but I turned him away. And for what? A touch of heart burn and a few minutes of tangy tastiness. I didn't even hold out for 30 pieces of silver. I have such a long way to go.
Best plans often go awry and tonight was no exception. I got caught up working with a student and had no time to pick up my dinner much less eat it before 5 pm rolled around. No problem. Drew is coming in to do some school work and I can ask him to go collect my dinner. Of course, that means I will be sharing my dinner with Drew, but that's OK. Its always more than I can eat, and includes things I can't eat like corn. I am content to share.
But then, I am at the desk working with a student who I know is financially pressed. Moreover, she has had a challenging life and has gone through more in her short number of years than most people endure in a lifetime. Drew approaches the desk and tells me how great it smells out there with the BBQ. The student next to me goes crazy and starts talking about how much she wants BBQ and how hungry she is and how she tried to get a ticket but couldn't and how she begged them to just give her a taste. It is an outright plea for me to pony up and get her some BBQ. She is practically drooling.
But I only have one ticket, and Drew and I were planning to share. There are no more tickets available because the student already asked. They have just enough for the ticket holders because they already sold their excess. I kibbutz. I argue with myself. I am horrible. I am unwilling to extend a hand of mercy. I am hungry too. So is Drew. But I know in my heart of hearts that I can go home and rustle up a meal when I get off duty. I am not so sure the student can. I think she probably can, but I know what it is to be poor and unable to afford good food.
The opportunity is gone before I have a chance to finish working through my dilemma. The student has to leave. She exits the front door of the library and I am ashamed of myself for withholding when it was within my power to do something about a situation. I want to call her back and hand her the ticket, then send Drew for something else, but it is too late. She is gone.
Dear God, forgive me. I am so sorry. All the while Drew and I are sharing dinner, I am heavy hearted. I am the rich man ignoring the beggar Lazarus. I am stupid and hard hearted. I agonize over it for some time. I could have fed Christ, but I turned him away. And for what? A touch of heart burn and a few minutes of tangy tastiness. I didn't even hold out for 30 pieces of silver. I have such a long way to go.
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