A Moment I’ll Never Forget

Every once in a while I like to flex my writing muscles and tell a true story about something beautiful. This is one of those stories.

He was a rather unassuming man. I’d guess around forty-five and average build, he almost blended into the surroundings with his faded green shirt tucked haphazardly in his tan pants. Dirt smudged on one knee and a tear on the other, his reddish-colored curls jutted out under his army green cap. Had it not been for the small grey bongo I noticed attached to his backpack as he swung it into a corner booth, I may never have noticed him.

It was just like any other weekend day at McDonald’s in my home state of Iowa. The restaurant was a bustle of activity, feeding hungry soccer players, weary interstate travelers, and families, like mine, trying to grab a bite between errands. My then toddler screamed something I ignored as I tossed more apples in her direction, already worn out from the constant whining. My husband, seated across from me, remained completely unaware of my preoccupation with the scene that unfolded before me.

A worker at the counter called out another order number and the stranger stood. It was only then, as he lifted from his seat and crossed in front of me, I noticed the older duo sitting near him.

“Was that you playing the drums out there? The grey haired woman, likely around sixty, asked as he walked by, her voice barely loud enough for me to hear. The stranger, surprised at first, placed a hand on his chest.

“Me?” He asked, though it was unlikely many other patrons were packing bongos. I was taken aback by his politeness.

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nodded in her direction.

Ma’am? He has great manners.

“Well, it was very good. We enjoyed listening to it.” Her lips parted into a genuine smile.

I struggled to hear their converstation as my children, then six and three continued to vie for my attention, but I was desperate to know how this played out. As mother’s often do, I placed myself on autopilot responding to their requests as I continued to watch their interaction.

Photo by Dee @ Copper and Wild on Unsplash

The man began to speak again before she interrupted with a swish of her hand. “You were going somewhere. Probably to get your food. Don’t let me stop you. We can talk more when you get back.”

He tilted his head once more, then turned and walked away. I noticed her lean across the table to say something to her companion. With his stooped posture, a light dusting of grey hair, and skin freckled with years in the sun, I’d guessed he was her father. Though I couldn’t hear what she said, it became obvious in a few moments what her plan had been.

As the stranger returned I noticed his nearly empty tray. One small sandwich wrapped in golden yellow paper sat in the middle and I recognized it instantly from my Wednesday Lenten trips—Filet O’Fish. I knew it had recently made a showing on the dollar menu. I felt guilty as I looked upon his single sandwich - my own table filled with food and drinks, sprawled before us. Much of which my children wouldn’t finish.

Isn’t it ironic how we often fail to notice our abundance until we are faced with another’s scarcity?

Before I could give it another thought, the woman rose from her own seat. A smile spread across her face, she dropped a five-dollar bill next to his sandwich. “Your tray’s looking a little empty.”

He stood for a moment, stunned. Before she could walk away, he asked, “Could I recite you a poem of thanks at least?”

“Sure you, can,” her eyes beamed. “Just as soon as I get our food.”

I watched him stand, awkwardly near their booth, waiting for her return. Her lunch companion remained silent. As she returned, he began to speak, but she stopped him almost before he could start.

“You sit down right here with us. No sense in you eating alone. “

Amid the continual chaos at my own table, as I shuffled yogurt containers and tiny jugs of milk, my eyes continued to divert back to the miracle of generosity occurring right before my eyes. I watched as the man cautiously lowered himself into their booth, one leg remaining off the seat as if afraid he might wear out his welcome. Before his poem could start, my heart warmed as I watched the women’s tiny hands dump a mound of french fries onto the stranger’s tray. Though I could no longer hear her words, I could read her lips. “I’ll never eat all these anyway.”

In a hurry to get to our next stop, I was jolted from my trance when my husband tapped my shoulder. “You ready to go.”

Though I wanted to stay and watch the perfect spontaneous act of love and generosity displayed before me, I shook my head and rose from the table. On my way out the door, so many thoughts stirred in my heart.

Would I have been able to look past this man’s appearance and not assume the worst?

Would I have extended the same kindness to a total stranger as this woman had?

How was it so easy for her to welcome a strange man to eat at her table, just as Jesus had?

Minutes later as I drove along the stretch of highway, two children sleeping in the backseat, one verse continued to stir in my heart. Hebrews 13:2

Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.

And I wondered to myself, was he really a stranger, or an angel in our midst?

Generosity has long been a principle of THE LIVE JOY LIFE.

When we give generously from our heart, something changes within. The focus of life becomes less about what is best for us and more about how we can serve. There is great JOY in both giving and receiving generosity. So go forth. Feed the hungry, heal the sick, love the unlovable, cloth the naked…GIVE GENEROUSLY and LIVE JOY.

Do you have a story of generosity?

In this together,

Sonya Joy

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