Sometimes, we can't relate.....and they know it

She was a pretty girl, (I don't remember her name, but let's call her Joan) walking down the street on a hot Texas afternoon in the town's poorest neighborhood.  I got out of the car to talk to her about Christ and invite her to church.  Joan was SO receptive and so kind!  She said that she'd be glad to come to church and we gave her a ride to her home so she could get out of the heat for a few minutes.  It wasn't much of a home.   She lived in a tiny converted gas station with the abandoned pumps right outside her front door.  We dropped her off and told her we looked forward to seeing her the following morning at such and such time.

Well, Joan didn't answer her door the next morning and never came to church.  I followed up on her a few other times after that; but the closest I got to speaking with her was another Saturday afternoon when I knocked on her open door and was "greeted" by a room full of people.  The only thing I remember seeing in the room, as I stood in the open doorway with people spilling out onto the stoop,  was a bed to my left and people sitting everywhere.  Some on folding chairs and some on the bed.  They were all just hanging out and weren't a bit rude but not necessarily friendly either.  I told them I was looking for Joan and a large older woman pointed to a figure on the bed.  Joan was sprawled out on the bed sleeping in the middle of the day in front of all these rowdy people!  She roused slightly and when I asked her if she wanted to go to church the next day, she mumbled something incoherently and then dropped her head back down.  The heavy woman laughed bawdily and said, "Honey, she ain't in any condition to go ANYwhere!"  And everyone laughed knowingly with her.  It was like a private joke had been told that I wasn't privy to.

I looked for her a couple of times after that, but never found her.  But here's what kept going through my mind.  She and I were from two different worlds.  Me?  I was white bread America and I was going back to my white bread home with my husband and four kids.  Everything in my world was "set up" for me to live a "holy" life.  To be separated.  To shun "works of the flesh".  And here I come in my skirt and comfortable shoes thinking that inviting Joan to church is going to change her hell hole life.  When I drop her off back home, I'm still dropping her off to her converted gas station.  To the men who would use her.  To those who probably sell her drugs, and possibly sell her FOR drugs.  In my mind I could imagine her saying to me, "What?!  Ok....yeah!  I'll go to church with you, but guess what?  I'm coming back to this mess.  I'm having to deal with these people.   You can't even relate to my life and I sure as hell can't relate to yours!  Is going to church with you Sunday going to change all THIS for me?"  And she would have been right.  I couldn't relate and going to church with me may even cause her more grief than help.

I'm in AWE of people who give up their lives to go and be a PART of the lives of the poor.  The needy.  The homeless.  The helpless.  Mother Teresa, who gave up physical comforts so that she could show love and relate to those poverty stricken in India.  I've wondered what it looks like to really minister to people in these seemingly hopeless situations.  It seems to me, we can't minister from a distance.  It's got to be personal and up close.  But that often means giving up what we CAN have top help others get what they CAN'T.

This isn't preaching.  I'm not there yet......

The Beauty of Being Private

I've loved Dan Fogelberg's music for most of my life.  His song, Longer, is to me, one of the most beautiful (musically and lyrically) songs ever written.  This morning I was creeping around on Youtube looking up various songs of his and came across another old favorite, Same Old Lang Syne.  





It's relatively common knowledge that this song is autobiographical, but I was so surprised to read the account of the "old lover" that he was referring to in the opening line of the song.  According to Song Facts:  

"After Fogelberg's death from prostate cancer in 2007, the woman who he wrote the song about came forward with her story. Her name is Jill Greulich, and she and Fogelberg dated in high school when she was Jill Anderson. As she explained to the Peoria Journal Star in a December 22, 2007 article, they were part of the Woodruff High School class of 1969, but went to different colleges. After college, Jill got married and moved to Chicago, and Dan went to Colorado to pursue music. On Christmas Eve, they were each back in Peoria with their families when Jill went out for egg nog and Dan was dispatched to find whipping cream for Irish coffee. The only place open was a convenience store at the top of Abington Hill, at Frye Avenue and Prospect Road, and that's where they had their encounter. They bought a six pack of beer and drank it in her car for 2 hours while they talked.

Five years later, Jill heard "Same Old Lang Syne" on the radio while driving to work, but she kept quiet about it, as Fogelberg also refused to reveal her identity. Her main concern was that coming forward would disrupt Fogelberg's marriage.

Looking at the lyrics, Jill says there are 2 inaccuracies: She has green eyes, not blue, and her husband was not an architect - he was a physical education teacher, and it's unlikely Fogelberg knew his profession anyway. Regarding the line, "She would have liked to say she loved the man, but she didn't like to lie," Jill won't talk about it, but she had divorced her husband by the time the song was released."

In a time where it's become commonplace to capitalize for personal gain on every opportunity and situation, it was striking to me that Jill chose to keep quiet about her role in such an iconic song.  She put her friend's marriage above her own personal interests.  

I think this struck a chord with me because I find it fascinating how social media and the internet have illuminated every aspect of our lives, from the mundane to the pivotal.  There's almost nothing we won't share publicly.  We status update our real time feelings and frustrations.   We're open about who did what to us and why AND what we think of it.  We tweet our whereabouts, eating habits, and grievances.   So many of us have come to be very transparent about our lives and feelings.  And that's NOT necessarily a bad thing.  

But Jill's story reminded me that it's okay to keep some things close to the heart.  That some pieces of ourselves shouldn't be for sale.   They aren't commodities to be traded for money, notoriety or the oft coveted fifteen minutes of fame.   They're special.  They're private.  AND they could have a ripple effect in the lives of others that may not be fair to them.  

The fact that Jill wouldn't even discuss the line alluding to her relationship with her former husband, showed amazing discretion on her part.  Who knows her reason for keeping quiet on this?  But I admire the fact that she didn't use this momentary spotlight to justify, explain, or condemn.  It was enough to simply not address what was personal to her.  

As I read this, immediately I thought of Luke 2:19 "But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart."  Maybe some things are best left in our hearts, being pondered by us.    

Source

"A woman's heart is a deep ocean of secrets.  But now you know there was a man named Jack Dawson and that he saved me...in every way that a person can be saved.  I don't even have a picture of him.  He exists now....only in my memory."  Old Rose from Titanic

Maybe it's good and appropriate for me to tuck some things into my heart and keep them there like a flower pressed in a book to commemorate a sweet memory.   Maybe I'm not being a hypocrite or phony if I don't share EVERYTHING, but demur the temptation to be a completely open book.   Could there be an amazing beauty in taking some things with us to our graves?