Author: Sheth

Spare Some Change?

by ShethChristianity / LifeLeave a Comment on Spare Some Change?

“I remember when Mrs. King and I were first in Jerusalem. We rented a car and drove from Jerusalem down to Jericho. And as soon as we got on that road, I said to my wife, ‘I can see why Jesus used this as a setting for his parable.’ It’s a winding, meandering road. It’s really conducive for ambushing. You start out in Jerusalem, which is about 2200 feet above sea level. And by the time you get down to Jericho, fifteen or twenty minutes later, you’re about 1200 feet below sea level. That’s a dangerous road. In the days of Jesus it came to be known as the ‘Bloody Pass’. And you know, it’s possible that the priest and the Levite looked over that man on the ground and wondered if the robbers were still around. Or it’s possible that they felt that the man on the ground was merely faking. And he was acting like he had been robbed and hurt, in order to seize them over there, lure them there for quick and easy seizure. And so the first question that the Levite asked was, ‘If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?’ But then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: ‘If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?’” (I’ve Been to the Mountaintop Speech, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. 1963)

There’s a man that stands on the southbound off ramp of Hampden that flows on to Wadsworth. I’ve seen him there every time I go by there. He’s there in the same dirty clothes – an old pair of ragged boots, oil-stained, dark blue jeans, and a t-shirt too large for his frail frame. His beard is shaggy and unshorn, dirty and grey. His face is a hollow, sagging picture of what used to be. In his old, gnarled fingers he holds a sign which pleads for help of any kind.

And I don’t know what to do. I’ve been told that you should never give money to the homeless because they’ll just blow it on alcohol or drugs. I’ve been told that it doesn’t solve the problem, just adds to it. I’ve been told that people need to get into a system, a home or some shelter, before they should receive help. I’ve been told that people need to know about Jesus first, and the salvation that He can bring, before they should receive help.

But I’ve been told that I need to help my fellow man. “Give generously to the poor, not grudgingly, for the LORD your God will bless you in everything you do.” (Deuteronomy 15:10 NLT) “John replied, ‘If you have two shirts, give one to the poor. If you have food, share it with those who are hungry.’” (Luke 3:11 NLT)

To be honest, I can’t imagine Jesus saying, ‘Hey, I’d love to give you this sandwich and wash your feet, but first, let me tell you who I am and how you can have everlasting salvation through me.’ Maybe I’m wrong here, but Jesus took care of the physical needs of those he was helping first. Jesus never said, ‘I’m not going to give you any help because you’ll spend it on wine and prostitutes.’ I believe he just helped the people, knowing that the help was needed. And he knew what the outcome of the results were going to be.

When I drive past this guy I usually have an ashtray full of change. I don’t need it – it sits there for months on end never being used. But I fail time and again to give it to this guy – or anyone else that needs it. It’s really quite messed up, actually, because if it wasn’t for my girlfriend and family, I’d be right where he is. I’m literally one good fight away from being kicked out on the street, and I’m so selfish right now with my money that I won’t give away a few pennies and dimes in my ashtray.

I don’t want people to treat me the same way I treat this man, but why should I expect any less? If I’m not helping him, why should other people help me? Why do I think I am I above this man? I’m no greater than he is, no better than he is, no richer than he is. I’m one day away from being in his shoes.

I don’t want people to look at him or (God forbid) me and think, “If I stop to help him, what’s going to happen to me.” I want them to think, “If I don’t stop to help this man, what will happen to him?”

much love. sheth.

Josh Ate Boogers.

by ShethEssay / LifeLeave a Comment on Josh Ate Boogers.

Josh ate boogers. I remember watching him in class as Mrs. Downes would teach us how to classify animals into various genus and species, and why the animals are classified the way they are. Josh would sit on the right side of the classroom, digging deep in his nose for a little gold. Sure, Mrs. Downes would pose a question for us to chew on, “What genus would a deer fit into?”, but this wasn’t enough for Josh – he needed something more substantial. He liked his boogers. And who was I to judge anyway? I am sure that at one time in my life I made a nasal-oral transfer, so I didn’t think too much of it.

Ann had red hair. Trevor smelled funny. Nick’s parents were separated. I was the fat kid. And Josh, he ate boogers.

We’ve all been called names at one time or another, and I know that most of these names wore off in time. The nerds made their way through high school and college dominating the computers, and now many of them are quite rich working in the network systems and information technology fields. Their nerdiness propelled them into a successful career. Ann and her red hair moved beyond the stiff natural curls that haunted her through her childhood, and now she has sexy, long flowing locks that continually catch the opposite sex’s attention. The boys couldn’t stand her when she was in elementary school, but now all the men want a fiery red-head. Trevor, it turns out, was simply more ‘mature’ than the rest of us, and the smell was covered up the next year with the application of a little deodorant. And Nick wasn’t the only one in class whose parents were separated – Amy, the prettiest girl in the class, watched her parents’ marriage slowly dissolve, and now Nick (and Amy) isn’t alone because a lot of marriages end in divorce.

But being the fat kid, it kind of sticks with you. I can’t capitalize off my fatness like the nerds did with their smarts; there’s no roll-on for my waist that will gently cover up the sight (while releasing a pleasant musk aroma at the same time). Being fat doesn’t just fade away over time like my friends’ problems did; instead it tends to hang on for quite some time.

Abundant. Ample. Beefy. Big. Big-boned. Blimp. Broad. Built. Bulky. Burly. Butterball. Chubby. Chunky. Considerable. Cumbersome. Dense. Disgusting. Elephantine. Excessive. Fat. Fatso. Fatty. Flabby. Fleshy. Gargantuan. Great. Gross. Heavy. Heavyset. Heavy-built. Hefty. Huge. Hulking. Husky. Insulated. Immense. Jelly-belly. Jolly. Jumbo. King-sized. Laden. Lard-ass. Large. Lead-footed. Lumbering. Mammoth. Massive. Nasty. Neglected. Obese. Obtuse. Outsized. Overfed. Overweight. Padded. Paunchy. Plump. Podgy. Portly. Potbellied. Pudgy. Robust. Rotund. Round. Sizeable. Solid. Squat. Stocky. Stout. Stubby. Substantial. Thick. Tubby. Ugly. Unhealthy. Unpleasant. Vast. Vertically-challenged. Volumous. Weighty. Whopping.

These are some of the names given to me by former classmates, close friends, strangers, pastors, teachers, physicians, and family. I admit that I have earned them – I’m a big guy. I don’t deny that I’m not overweight or fat or whatever else you want to label it as. I haven’t always been this way, and I probably won’t be, but until that time comes when I am able to shed some of this excess baggage I will remain fat.

When I was a kid I was normal for my age in the way of size. Looking back at the pictures of my youth, you could see my ribs sticking through my skin as I posed for a picture in the summer sun. It wasn’t until I was about nine or ten that things started to shift. I continued my activities as always – playing baseball in the summers, hiking and fishing, hunting, and playing on the playground. My physical activities never died down, my body just grew a lot. As I entered the fifth grade I was the fat kid in class, and I endured all the angst that came along with it – the name calling, the staring, being the butt of many a joke, and being forced to live in a shell that my classmates had created for me.

The thing that always bothered me was that I made fun of Josh, too. And I was the fat kid. Now, if the fat kid is making fun of you from time to time, you know that your life isn’t all that great. I really regret that I poked fun at him, because I was no better than he was – none of us were; and yet, we still made fun of him just because he ate his boogers.

I suppose it’s difficult to understand our own faults, so we point out those we find in others. Josh’s was easy to find, so we all jumped on it. But there were a lot of kids we could have picked on just as easily. Perhaps that’s why we did it – because his fault was visible. But why didn’t we pick on Ellen because she was dark-skinned, or Traci because she developed faster than the other girls (the guys actually fell over one another to see her, which I could say is a form of harassment. We only liked her because of those marvelous bumps on her chest that none of the other girls had). It can be said that everyone has a fault of their own – everyone has a reason to be made fun of, to be picked on and be the butt of a joke. It’s not that we don’t have faults that we make fun of others, it’s because we do, and therefore have to cover them up by pointing out someone a little worse than ourselves.

Traci had braces, the shiny metal ones many kids suffer with, and thick oversized glasses. That was many years ago, and the last time I saw her she was very beautiful – she had contacts, and the braces left her smile radiant. It seems the things that she struggled with in her youth turned her into a beautiful woman. These things we go through as children make us into the people who we are – either better or worse. It’s what we do with the words, the lifes, the actions of others that determines who we are as adults.

much love. sheth.