Reflections by Doc Arnett

The hitchhiker I’d picked up just west of Troy, Kansas, sat holding his notebook and Bible and telling me about his traveling ministry to the “Lord’s little lost sheep.”

“I was sitting in this homeless shelter in Texas at meal time. I had my Bible laying on the table and no one would sit down with me. ‘Lord, they hate me,’ I said. ‘No one will sit with me.’ And then the Lord said, ‘It’s not you they hate, Willie; it’s me.’

“So, I argued with him, ‘No, it’s me.'”

With northeast Kansas rolling by, William Jones looked over at me, “And then the Lord told me, ‘Put your Bible down in your lap.’ So, I put my Bible down in my lap. My table was full in no time. Then, the Lord said, ‘OK, Willie, now take your Bible back out and lay it on the table.’

“I did that. As soon as I did, everybody got up and left. ‘See,’ the Lord said, ‘I told you it was me.'”

Willie went on to tell me about other reactions people had to his Bible. Some would say, “Keep that Bible away from me,” and others would state, “I don’t believe all that stuff.” Another, according to Willie, took him to McDonald’s and bought him a meal. “I was raised up around religion,” the man told him, “but I don’t believe in it. I don’t believe it’s real.”

“I told him, ‘Well, he’s real, all right, whether you believe in him or not. And you just fed one of his little sheep.”

Well, I do believe, and I’d just given that same little sheep a ride and a chance to cool off on a hot day. But he’d given me more than that. He’d reminded me of the power of simple faith and the willingness to give up everything to follow the Lord. “My kids are all mad at me. Even though they’re all grown, they’ve disowned me. My own Dad thinks I’m an idiot; he won’t even talk to me.”

I guess Willie’s family is right; he’s definitely been touched. And, he’s touching others. As for me, I’ve been picking up hitchhikers for nearly forty years. Some, I gave a ride across town and others across the state. I’ve shared a little time and money and one I gave a place to spend the night and a bus ticket on to Memphis from Fulton, Kentucky. Whether it was little or nothing or quite a bit more, I’ve never picked up a one but what it turned out that I received more than I gave.

The rationalizations started as soon as I saw him standing beside Highway 36 on a hot Kansas afternoon, just east of US-7 near Troy. “Someone else will pick him up soon.” “He’ll find a ride.” “He can walk.” As I came close, I saw him looking at me, thumb pointed toward the east, skin dark, hope turning to disappointment on his face. Before I was even past him, another voice began to speak in my mind, “Whatever you would that others do to you…”

A quarter mile down the road, I slowed, turned left and headed back. He watched cautiously as I wheeled a U-turn and pulled onto the shoulder behind him. When he realized I was stopping for him, a big smile lit up his face and he trotted toward me. He hesitated beside the car and I opened the front door. “Oh, thank you, Jesus,” he exclaimed, quickly laying a notebook and Bible on the seat. “Let me put my backpack in the back here.”

There was another, “Praise you, God” as he finished that little chore, closed the back door and then slid into the passenger’s seat in the front. “I’m William Jones,” he smiled, offering his hand, “Thank you so much.”

For the next twenty miles, he told me about his ministry. “I was on my way into work one Monday morning and the Lord told me, ‘Go home and read your Bible.’ I told him, ‘Lord, I’m on my way to work.’ The Lord said, ‘Go home and read your Bible.’ So, I turned around and went home and read my Bible. That happened for three Mondays in a row.

“My boss called me in and said, ‘Willie, my customers and I agree; you’re the best paint and body man in Oklahoma. Is there some reason why you need Monday’s off? Because if there is, I’ll give you Monday’s off and I’ll pay you for them.'”

Willie looked at me and grinned, “Can you believe that? I got paid to stay home and read my Bible. Since then, I’ve gone out on the road with my Bible. I’ve been out for two-and-a-half years this time. The Lord will send me up north five hundred miles for one little lost sheep. Then, he’ll send me south for one little lost sheep. I find them on the street, under bridges, behind old buildings. I just go whenever he sends me. I’m on my way to West Virginia now.”

I looked at Willie’s leathery skin, his neat clothes and listened to his stories. I gave him a ride and a little cash, left him at the McDonald’s by I-29 on the south side of Saint Joe. I don’t know if he got another ride right away or not.

But I do know that I envy his faith.

Mid-morning, the heat index flirted with the century mark, not atypical for July in northwest Missouri. By mid-day, a dark sky moved in with its cool winds, head-butting the mercury downward by fifteen degrees in less than an hour. As we drove through Saint Joe, the breeze seemed almost chilly.

Such is the nature of weather across most of the country and, from rumors and reports we hear from time to time, across the planet. No doubt, it’s a common saying in parts of Russia, places in China and certain segments of Slobovnia, “If you don’t like our weather, just wait a couple of days; it’ll change.”

It seems that some aspects of our economy have taken on a similar nature: gas and other energy prices, hiring practices, and the marketplace. Employment in some sectors becomes an oxymoron while jobs flourish in another. Some people accumulate tremendous profits while others struggle to get unemployment claims accepted. Even in the worst of times, some people gain an advantage. Even in the best of times, some experience loss.

It is not a sparing from these fickle changes of the world that people of faith have gained. Rather, it is a securing of those things permanent, which endure beyond the world and its fluctuations. The comfort of salvation instead of the striving of desperation. The peace that comes from knowing that this season of mortality and its afflicting fears will be replaced by an endless age of blessing. The beauty of holiness instead of the deceits of appearance. A present knowing of faith, hope and love and that incredible liberation of knowing that love will endure even after faith and hope have been fulfilled. Now that’s a change worth waiting for.