Happy Birthday Gregory

Weeping might last through the night, but joy come with the morning.
Psalm 30:5

                                                              

I was half way down the bric-a brac isle, between the ornate egg cups and jalapeno salt shakers when he came toward me.  My nose caught his approach before I realized his trajectory. A jolt of adrenaline, and I turned my body automatically pointing my shoulder at his approaching form, and arranged my keys in my hand just in case I needed something sharp.  He stopped several inches too close.  “I’m Gregory.” He yelled, by way of informing me.  “Today is my birthday; would you write Happy Birthday here?”  Gregory handed me a spiral ring binder and a black pen.  I blinked.  I wasn’t processing quickly enough for Gregory, who waved the book and pen at me in order to move me along. 

I took the book and winced, bracing myself so I didn’t back up; countering my human instinct to withdraw from the smelly, unfamiliar stranger.  Things were moving a bit too quickly.  Juggling my keys, I grasped the book and managed to scratch, “Happy Birthday Gregory. From Karen” on the lined page.  He took the book back and held it close to his face.  “Your “e” is really messy, could you fix that please?”  He passed the book back to me and pointed to the offending letter.  “Sure I can, sorry about that,” Was my halfhearted reply as I sized up my handwriting coach. 

Gregory was in this 50’s, brush cut grey hair, hands stained by tobacco and excrement, dirty clothes and nice grey eyes, that hinted toward a world that existed only in his head.  “That’s better,” he took back his book.  I stood looking at him, not sure what to say next. I didn’t want to be rude, but as a well marbled little female, I’m not trained to socialize with strangers. I suddenly regretted not drawing a flower on this birthday note.  He looked at me.  “I go to church.” 

“Do you? So do I.” I countered.

“Really? Then will you pray for me?  I’m having a bad day.”  Gregory, seeming to understand some rule about prayers and body placement, moved very close to me but tipped his head inches from mine, much like a child leaning over to receive a blessing.  Somewhere in my head I observed that I was having a very strange interaction with Gregory. Things seemed to be moving very quickly and I was in response mode.   I offered up a quick prayer on my behalf first.  “Well Lord, I have nothing for Gregory, but I can pray, he got me on a good note there.”  And I stood, with Gregory, whose eyes were closed and his hands and book clutched to his chest.  I stood relaxed, as I took a while in the bric-brac isle, and prayed for this man named Gregory, whose birthday it may or may not be, but who understood loss and what it was like to be despised.  I suddenly wished I had markers in my purse. 

I finished praying and without a word, Gregory walked away.  I stood there starting, when suddenly he darted back.  “I need something else,” he shouted, I noticed his eyes were teary.  “I’m having a crisis.  I hate Everett.  I don’t want to live there.  I don’t want to die there.  I want to move. Can we pray about that?”  His volume was loud, and he was too close again and then tipped his body over to pray.  Bewildered, I agreed and I prayed again.  I prayed for a man who had no resources, no ability and little agency.  I really prayed.  How I wanted the Lord to come and touch this life, to give him good things and to ease his suffering.  I wanted Gregory to walk out of that junk store straight into the arms of Jesus so that he could help.  I finished praying and opened my eyes.  “Thank you.” Gregory said and then darted off.

I stood there for a while, as other customers walked by, trying to compose my thoughts.  I continued to walk the isles when Gregory reappeared yet again to ask me to rewrite my name.  I did so, and as I handed the book back I wondered why I didn’t just try rewrite the whole thing with nicer writing.

I left the store 20 minutes later without bumping into Gregory.  Stopping to buy the girls a drink, I scanned the street for Gregory, wishing I could buy him a milkshake on his birthday.  Wishing I had more to give to someone who obviously occupied the lowest caste my society afforded.  Wishing I was better equipped, better prepared and just a better person who could do more. 

And so this week, I was wondering if you might join me in praying for Gregory.  For a man who finds himself where he doesn’t want to be, living a life that is difficult.  Praying for many of those who are in similar circumstances and that by God’s grace we might do more than just scribble a note in their book as they stand by awkwardly waiting.  That we might take the time to write a note of hope, embellished with all the kindness God has lavished upon us.

xoxKaren

PS my brother in law or sister took this photo, they were in Malawi.