Skip to main content

fisher of coins & the good man

October 5th
Kansas City, MO
I was sitting out by a water fountain just beyond the Country Club Plaza in Kansas City, MO, when I noticed a man, barefoot and walking in the knee-high deep, rich blue water. He was fishing for coins, and looked frazzled and frustrated with his findings (or the lack thereof). He wasn't disturbing anybody or begging for money. His shoulder length dirty blonde hair and thin body resembled that of the white Jesus of the Renaissance paintings, or a 20th century "Hollywood Jesus." But this man, the wanderer, walked in water--not on it--and certainly didn't look like the well put-together, commercialized Jesus we know. His thinness bordered frailty, his mind seemed absent from his body, his clothes, ragged. 

A man and his wife were sitting on a bench across from me with their two young children. I saw them, too, watching this man--the wanderer. They got up to leave and I assumed that they, like many (myself included), would ignore this strange stranger out of fear, contempt, or several other putrid emotions that morph into uselessness. However, as his wife pushed forward with the kids, he paused and turned towards the fountain. The good man called the wanderer out of the rich, blue water, luring him with what appeared to be a twenty-dollar bill. [This story could've easily ended here with the good man giving the wanderer money and rushing off to wherever or whatever was more important (or not)] After the wanderer jumped out of the fountain, the good man ushered him to sit down on the ledge.

The good man touched the wanderer's back with a gentle confidence, and he appeared to be praying with/for the wanderer, sharing love, or speaking life into him. After about 5 minutes of what seemed like a one-sided conversation (at least verbally), the good man handed over the money and the two parted ways. The wanderer, looking amazed, slowly gathered his things and left the fountain. His fishing for coins yielded for more than he'd expected, I'm sure.

On God
I don't know what the wanderer's relationship with God is, or if there is a relationship at all; but as a believer, I've witnessed God do exceedingly and abundantly above all I've ever asked or prayed about. I, too, have been a fisher of coins--in love, my career--and right when my frustrations begin to take over, God delivers the amazing and the unimaginable! Moreover, the delivery comes in packages that we're not expecting, in areas that we're not searching, and in people or things we might otherwise dismiss. That's God.

On Jesus
"I don't know what kind of ministry just took place here on this fountain's ledge," I thought, "but I do know that this act of kindness and patience had Jesus written all over it."

I sometimes look for Jesus in random people that I cross paths with. Jesus could've been the good man; it would be assumed. Yet, I strangely couldn't help thinking that Jesus could've very well been the dirty, frazzled wanderer. We don't know the many forms in which God enters the universe. I do believe that the wanderer opened the door for the good man to publicly display an example of the infinite possibilities of what it means to follow Christ. I do also believe that the good man opened the door for the wanderer to get a taste of what it means to love thy neighbor as thyself.

God is in everything and everyone. I somehow selfishly believe that I was put in Kansas City--in that park, on that bench, by that fountain--to witness the love of Christ and the love of God just one more time. What I saw at the fountain reminded me of who I am as an heir, and joint heir with Jesus, to the kingdom of God. I am inspired to continue giving, speaking, and being love in every waking moment of my journey.

 That was my church for the day.


Let the church say Amen!








Labels:

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

"Where Do You See Yourself in 5 Years?"

Today (December 1st, 2020), Facebook reminded me that 5 years ago, I wrapped up a 5-week run of Ain't Misbehavin' at Portland Center Stage in Oregon, and flew back to New York City to re-enter my life there. I had just applied to seminary a few days before Thanksgiving and was excited about the possibility of leaning into this strong calling I felt to deepen my theological knowledge. I was still under the illusion that I'd be able to maintain some sort of performance career, so I kept my manager, Greg, and he'd continue sending me out on auditions. I was becoming very picky about what I'd say "yes" to-- Would I go on that national tour of Hamilton that he wanted to send me on or would I go to seminary? Would I leave to do a 9-month stint in After Midnight on an international cruise ship or would I go to seminary?  That was the question over and over again. I decided that I'd still do local stuff in NYC or short stints in other cities. Even as I ente
Post a Comment
Read more

Why I Quit Church...

On Sunday I quit church... for the day, at least. It was the most beautiful and painfully passionate act of self-care I've ever done.   Hi. My name is Mia, and I live with an anxiety disorder.  It's 4:30 on Sunday morning. My first alarm intrudes on the three hours of sleep I've managed to acquire. I begrudgingly assess the state of my vocal cords and decide whether or not they are well enough for me to sleep another thirty minutes. I hit snooze. Minutes later, my second alarm assaults my rem cycle. I pimp-slap my iPhone and decide whether or not I'm going to steam (a process in which I stand over a pot of boiling water for fifteen minutes to lubricate my cords). I, instead, opt for the less time consuming process of making tea, buying me an extra fifteen minutes of sleep. at 5:15, my third and final alarm goes off. I roll out of bed and into the shower. As I lather, I do minor vocal warm-ups and meditate. It's 6:05. I'm clothed, tea is made, hair is done,
7 comments
Read more

Cracked Eggs, Nerf Guns, and the Murder of Karon Blake

  Cracked Eggs, Nerf Guns, and the Murder of Karon Blake At the time of my writing this, I am sitting in my big chair, staring at my front window from inside the house, looking at the drippings that have stained the glass from the eggs that some neighborhood kids hurled at my window almost two weeks ago. They were mad at me (I suppose) because they came to steal another package off my front porch in December, but they did not know that it was a package I’d planted with a note inside. I had them on camera stealing several packages on my block during the winter break, including one of mine that contained dog food (I know they were disappointed when they opened that one up ha!). Instead of calling the police or posting their faces on the many neighborhood apps, I decided to take an old amazon box, place a note inside, retape it and leave it on the porch. The note read: “God loves you. I care about you. Stop stealing packages. -Pastor Mac.” I wanted these 3 kids who look like they ar
Post a Comment
Read more