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From a distance

Richard Maffeo

From a distance, the city’s lights glisten like diamonds on velvet. In the evening, I sit on my porch overlooking the city and watch them erupt to life.

But when I drive through the city on business, the diamonds lose their sparkle. Velvet turns to burlap. Along north Broadway, men and women in evening attire stroll the streets, holding hands, window-shopping. A little farther south, though, things change. Men and women in tattered clothing carry plastic shopping bags and rummage through trash bins.

One night, I parked my car and stepped onto the sidewalk, moving closer than usual to the invisible residents of downtown. Randy, an alcoholic, was slumped against the graffiti-marred brick wall outside an adult video store. As I squatted beside him, I noticed a styrofoam cup at his feet. Next to it, on a torn piece of cardboard, he had scrawled, “Thank you.” I counted 50 or 60 cents in pennies, nickels and dimes at the bottom. Randy told me he sits there every day from 8:00 a.m. until after dark – except when it rains. During those times, he stays in his room across the street, watching television and drinking cheap whiskey. “Not many people on the streets when it rains.” He avoided my eyes as he spoke. “No sense gettin’ wet for a couple o’ dollars.”

I tried to start a conversation about spiritual things, but he waved me off. “I know what you’re tryin’ to do.” This time he looked at me. “Tryin’ to help me. But I’m doin’ fine.”

I thought about Randy many nights since then as I sat on my porch. As I did, my thoughts drifted closer to home. I don’t like to admit it, but the city’s lights illustrate my life. From a distance, I also sparkle. Ask anyone who works with me or attends the same church. To them, I am a well-educated, successful nurse-manager, a family man, author and teacher, a leader within my sphere of influence. But closer in, the glitter barely covers the burlap. Ask those who live with me. My wife and children know the angry words, hypocrisies and broken promises. They know the tattered clothing beneath the starched suit and tie.

Yet, even they don’t know me the way God does. He understands my secret thoughts. He knows each of my deeds and every word before it crosses my tongue (Psalm 139). He knows that inside I am, in truth, “wretched, pitiful, poor, blind and naked” (Revelation 3:17).

That’s why I need Jesus. He knows my arrogant boasts, my lustful stares, my prideful thoughts – yet loves me nonetheless (1 John 4:10). I need a Lord who forgives every sin I bring before Him in repentance (1 John 1:9). I need a Friend who never gives up on me, who continues His work in my heart, changing my burlap into glistening robes. I need a Saviour to rescue me from the eternal consequences of my sins (John 3:16).

Richard Maffeo is a freelance writer from San Diego, Calif.

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Last modified January 30, 2001.

© 2001 Mennonite Brethren Herald.
Published by the Canadian Conference of MB Churches.
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