Flowering weeds paint an otherwise barren lot in JiyugaokaI saw him again this morning. He was sorely in need of a bath and a comb (minimally), and wearing clothes that hadn’t seen a washing machine in months, if not years. Suddenly I remembered a Sunday morning last month.
I was riding a train from Shibuya to Takadanobaba. With no seats available, I was standing, holding onto the strap in order to keep my balance as the train started and stopped at stations along the Yamanote Line. While looking out the window at the mostly building-crowded landscape that characterizes the world’s most populated metropolitan area (28 to 33 million people, depending upon the list you consult), I was surprised when a flowered slope came into view. Actually, the open space was little more than the railway right of way, but it was beautifully decorated in purple and white, thanks to the daisy-like flowers in bloom there. Although in reality they were weeds, the scene was a breath of fresh air to my dulled senses.
It’s amazing what your eyes can digest in a split second. As the train passed my new-found flower garden, my eyes focused on a bee at a nectar banquet in the otherwise unattended and unsightly patch of ground. Even a weed has a purpose, I thought, remembering the same kind of weeds I’d seen the day before on an empty lot near our apartment in Jiyugaoka. Then as well, I’d realized that even though they were only weeds, they’d brightened up the emptiness with a splashing of cheerful color.
The painted right of way was long gone by now, but my mind was still awhirl as I remembered, “He has made everything beautiful in its time,” words from the Old Testament about our Creator God. Yes, God has given everything a purpose and it is beautiful, I agreed with the writer of Ecclesiastes. (I’m always pleased when I agree with God. It makes me feel so, well, holy.)
My happy-all-over feeling was challenged quickly, however, when I suddenly remembered the homeless man in Jiyugaoka. I could see his long stringy hair, usually tied in a ponytail, and his shoes that were little more than soles. If you’re close enough to hear him when you pass by, he’s usually mumbling something incoherent to himself. But I usually don’t come that close because of his smell.
“What about him? What’s his beautiful purpose?” I challenged the Lord in my thoughts.
“That’s for you to find out,” God answered me calmly, yet firmly, his words a sword delivering a “take that” thrust into my cocky confrontation.
I didn’t like his answer. It meant I couldn’t just look the other way anymore. I’d never been unkind to this man—at least not directly. But I’d ignored him as if he weren’t there, as if he weren’t created and loved by God, even as I am. What was I to do with him now? Even as a weed has a purpose. It was up to me to change my thinking. Changed thinking results in changed actions. I’d been confronted by the Lord and I had to respond.
Today, weeks later, I realize I’ve done nothing other than to smile at this mystery man when he uncharacteristically looked my way one day. To my surprise, he smiled back. But a start is not enough.
Even a weed . . . .
I was riding a train from Shibuya to Takadanobaba. With no seats available, I was standing, holding onto the strap in order to keep my balance as the train started and stopped at stations along the Yamanote Line. While looking out the window at the mostly building-crowded landscape that characterizes the world’s most populated metropolitan area (28 to 33 million people, depending upon the list you consult), I was surprised when a flowered slope came into view. Actually, the open space was little more than the railway right of way, but it was beautifully decorated in purple and white, thanks to the daisy-like flowers in bloom there. Although in reality they were weeds, the scene was a breath of fresh air to my dulled senses.
It’s amazing what your eyes can digest in a split second. As the train passed my new-found flower garden, my eyes focused on a bee at a nectar banquet in the otherwise unattended and unsightly patch of ground. Even a weed has a purpose, I thought, remembering the same kind of weeds I’d seen the day before on an empty lot near our apartment in Jiyugaoka. Then as well, I’d realized that even though they were only weeds, they’d brightened up the emptiness with a splashing of cheerful color.
The painted right of way was long gone by now, but my mind was still awhirl as I remembered, “He has made everything beautiful in its time,” words from the Old Testament about our Creator God. Yes, God has given everything a purpose and it is beautiful, I agreed with the writer of Ecclesiastes. (I’m always pleased when I agree with God. It makes me feel so, well, holy.)
My happy-all-over feeling was challenged quickly, however, when I suddenly remembered the homeless man in Jiyugaoka. I could see his long stringy hair, usually tied in a ponytail, and his shoes that were little more than soles. If you’re close enough to hear him when you pass by, he’s usually mumbling something incoherent to himself. But I usually don’t come that close because of his smell.
“What about him? What’s his beautiful purpose?” I challenged the Lord in my thoughts.
“That’s for you to find out,” God answered me calmly, yet firmly, his words a sword delivering a “take that” thrust into my cocky confrontation.
I didn’t like his answer. It meant I couldn’t just look the other way anymore. I’d never been unkind to this man—at least not directly. But I’d ignored him as if he weren’t there, as if he weren’t created and loved by God, even as I am. What was I to do with him now? Even as a weed has a purpose. It was up to me to change my thinking. Changed thinking results in changed actions. I’d been confronted by the Lord and I had to respond.
Today, weeks later, I realize I’ve done nothing other than to smile at this mystery man when he uncharacteristically looked my way one day. To my surprise, he smiled back. But a start is not enough.
Even a weed . . . .
