The burden wasn’t there this morning, and that was good. Maybe that meant his faith was growing. Joe often would meet people at church or on the street and he’d get to know them and then they would leave. The burden would stay with him, which meant he needed to remember them and pray for them. He knew he shouldn’t worry. That the Bible told him to give all his worries and cares to God because God cared for him.
He cares for Lily and Samantha, too. Wherever they might be.
It gave him comfort that God knew exactly where the mother and daughter were. Maybe Joe would never see them again. Waking up this morning and feeling the way he did . . . well, that was a possibility that might really come true. But it was okay. He had to trust God that His will would be done.
Now Joe had to make sure he finished the floor he was cleaning in the meeting area attached to the kitchen. The big beast of a machine he was working with—a floor-buffing machine that seriously seemed to be the same age as him—was unruly and feeling more and more heavy in his hands. It used to be that he could bench press more than anybody around him. People would be struggling to lift something and Joe would come by and swiftly pick up whatever they had. But those were the ole days.
The not-so-good ole days when I believed I was Samson without all the hair.
He was staring at the floor when a figure entered the room. Joe recognized the guy immediately. It was the black kid from the other night. He was carrying a duffel bag over his shoulder and a Bible in his hand.
The loud bellow of the machine’s engine shut off.
“Back again, huh?” Joe asked with a welcoming smile.
The guy looked around the room. “I’m looking for the guy who runs this place.”
“Well, He’s in Heaven. But I think you mean Pastor Matt. C’mon, I’ll take you to him.”
Nothing had changed in the kid’s demeanor. He still looked anxious and fidgety, like someone was going to grab him at any moment. As Joe led him through a back hallway and toward the offices behind the sanctuary of the church, he wondered if there would be any more visits from the cops, and if so, what he would do then.
He knocked on the pastor’s door and then entered, seeing Pastor Matt at his desk. Joe liked the fact that the pastor had an open-door policy. People could come in when they wanted. They didn’t need some kind of scheduled meeting or an appointment made by a secretary. If and when people needed the pastor—and people always had a need eventually in their life—there would be someone waiting and available.
“Pastor?” Joe asked. “I got somebody here to see you.”
The kid slowly stepped in the office and glanced around. The walls were lined with books. There was a cross on one wall, larger than the wooden crosses Pastor Matt had handed out the other evening. The pastor stood up behind the large computer monitor he’d been working behind.
Joe started to leave the two of them, hoping the kid would find what he was looking for.
“No, please,” the guy called out after him. “I want you to stay.”
Joe shrugged and looked at Pastor Matt. He knew it was okay with the pastor, but he was curious what the guy wanted. Why he wanted Joe to stay.
The kid shifted the bag to his hands, then stood so he could see both of them.
“Listen, last night, this guy saved me,” the kid said, nodding at Joe. “I mean, Jesus saved me, but this guy was definitely part of His plan. Same as you. And when I heard you talk, I knew you were talkin’ to me even though you didn’t know you were talkin’ to me. What I’m tryin’ to say is—I asked the Lord to save me, and He did. Which means this—this bag here—it ain’t mine no more. I wanna do good with it, ’cause up until now? It’s done only bad. I want this bag to help people. To change them like it changed me, if you know what I mean.”
The kid’s words were spilling out so fast with this nervous energy that Joe had a hard time taking it all in. He could tell the pastor was trying to process what was being said as well. Before either of them could respond, the guy took the bag and dropped it onto the pastor’s desk. Then he unzipped it to show the contents inside.
It made Joe’s wish jar look like a child’s piggybank.
Pastor Matt just stood there looking at more cash than Joe had seen in his life. And in typical pastor fashion, he glanced back at the kid with his calm and friendly face.
“I can’t take this,” the pastor said.
“Don’t ask me to bring it back,” the black guy said. “It was already dirty when I stole it.”
Pastor Matt gave a quick glance to Joe. “I still can’t take it.”
“Why not? Last night I read how Jesus got killed, that Judas guy gave the Temple back their money. They couldn’t keep it, so they did something else with it.”
Pastor Matt gave a yeah-but sort of nod with his hands starting to open, but the kid kept talking fast and furious.
“The way I figure, it’s like this: The money’s like sin. And sin is death. So me keepin’ the money would be like askin’ for death. But not just dyin’. More like hell and damnation.”
Taking his time, the pastor gave him a nod and let a moment pass before talking. Joe liked this about the guy. Careful to talk, always trying to think before saying something.
“You’ve been reading,” the pastor told the kid.
The kid held up the Bible in his hand and then gave an embarrassed smile. “I kinda stole it from my motel room.”
Another pause. Joe stood listening, waiting for the pastor to speak. He wasn’t about to say anything. He loved hearing about what had happened in this young man’s life, but he didn’t know what to do with all that cash.
I’d go bring it to the shelter and hand it out to all those in need.
He wouldn’t think twice about doing that. But then again, Joe was no pastor.
“Would that I were Solomon,” Pastor Matt said as if he were talking to the bag-o’-money.
“Who?” the young guy asked.
“The wisest of all men, who always knew how to solve difficult problems.”
“Well, it seems to me—if he was so smart—he’d take the money.”
The pastor gave him a nod, then looked again at Joe. “I think you’re right. He would take it . . . and then he’d give it away.”
You’re reading my mind, Pastor Matt.
Joe glanced again at the duffel bag stuffed full. He thought again of his wish jar.
This gave him an idea.