Misdemeanors

She carried thousands of them. And by thousands, I mean more than twenty.

That big old suitcase of a purse had everything in it. Kleenex, on the off-chance a bloody nose should need immediate attention (hey–it had been known to happen) or even for the occasional tear that might dare to escape from the corner of a little boy’s eye. Band-aids for scraped knees–a virtual certainty–and pricked fingers. Scissors, nail clippers, maps, Bible, suntan lotion (no sunscreen back then), pens, pencils, notepad. . .Well, you get the idea.

The object she carried by the thousands though (or more than twenty–whichever), was a round silver thing with ridges around the circumference. That red-headed lady who raised me carried plenty of quarters for any eventuality. 

Lunch money? Get a couple of quarters. Sunday School offering? Pull out a quarter. A stop at the gas station for a few gallons of gas? Four of them would put four gallons in the tank, enough to get around town for another week.

Mom carried quarters. The gargantuan purse’s weight without them? I have no idea. It would have felt feather-light to her if it had ever happened. It never did.

I knew better than to dig through Mom’s purse on my own. If a dig through was called for, she did it herself. I never took a quarter from Mom’s purse. Never.

Did I also mention she kept thousands of quarters on her dresser in her bedroom? No? She did. I think they were the reinforcements for the purse, should it ever feel lighter than normal.

Is it pretty clear where this is headed? Well, let me get right to the point.

I am a thief. 

Was.

Am.

Again and again–I cringe as I write the words–and again, I crept into my Paul-Charles_Chocarne-Moreau_The_Cunning_Thiefparent’s bedroom at times when I was sure their attention was on other things–preparing dinner, hanging laundry on the line, changing the oil in the car–and I slipped a quarter into my pocket. A quarter bought a coke in those days. Or, even a play on the pinball machine in the convenience store. Important stuff.

Never more than one at a time did I steal. I convinced myself that it was not as bad as taking two. Or four. Or ten.

No mention was ever made of the missing money. None. But, the red-headed woman knew. She knew.

It was fifty years ago. And still I know myself to be a thief.

Was.

Am.

In the present day, I would never steal from anyone knowingly. Folks leave items at my business–nice things–and I find ways to contact them. I realize a customer has been overcharged and I make sure they get their money back. To a fault, I ensure unhappy folks are compensated. I never want to cheat or steal from a single person again.

I’m not sure how we manage to convince ourselves, but we can certainly fool ourselves, can’t we? I’m not a thief anymore! With Tolkien’s Faramir, I can say, “Not if I found it on the highway would I take it!”

Was.

Yeah. 

Am.

You see, stealing is about recognizing who the proper owner of anything is and not taking that thing for ourselves.

Anything.

This is not the time for me to make a list of the things I have stolen just in the last 24 hours. The reader will probably find enough to make his or her own list. It may or may not be longer than mine.

The man limped out of the rain and into my store this morning. I had work to do and was already behind schedule. He needed to talk about important things. Needed to. I grudgingly gave him five minutes of my time and sent him on his way with my variation of go in peace; be warm and be fed.

Recently, I wrote boldly of knowing that nothing I have is my own. The opportunity to serve was not my own. The time was not my own. I am a thief.

Was.

Am.

My Creator has, in His bag, thousands of such opportunities. How many have I sneaked in and stolen, to waste on myself? How many minutes, one at a time, have I slipped into my own pocket?

Let me be clear. I am not legalistically suggesting we cannot have leisure time. It is clear we were created in such a way that rest and recreation is a prerequisite for physical and spiritual health.

The minutes and opportunities I am suggesting have been stolen and squandered do not, by any stretch of the imagination, fit into the category of leisure time.

I knew when I hurried the man out the door, I had not fulfilled my responsibility to him.  I knew, and I sent him away. I am a thief.

Was.

Am.

Ah! But, grace. . .

Was.

 

 

 

“Then he said, ‘Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.’ Jesus answered him, ‘Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.'”
Luke 23: 42, 43 ~ NIV)

 

 

“Enter, stranger, but take heed
Of what awaits the sin of greed,
For those who take, but do not earn,
Must pay most dearly in their turn.”
(J.K.Rowling ~ British novelist)

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.

Fallen Hero

My disappointment was profound.

No.  Strike that.  My disappointment is profound.  Still.

Years after the release of the movie, I feel even now that familiar twist in my gut when I think about it.  I still imagine an apology from the screen-writer is forthcoming, and an amended version of the film will be released any day now.

I am, of course, speaking of the Lord of the Rings trilogy of movies.  It was a triumph of film-making.  The casting was nearly perfect, the special effects, spectacular.  The setting in which it was filmed remains one of its greatest triumphs; the scenic panoramas are breath-taking and awe-inspiring.

The movies had, however, a fatal flaw.  I may never recover from my disillusionment.

I am a LOTR nerd.

I refer, not to the aforementioned movie, but to the books.  I have worn out three sets of the paperbacks in reading and re-reading them over my adult life.  Each time I have picked them up, they have seemed fresh and exciting, even if at the same time they are like old friends–comfortable and familiar.

A good book is like that.  The books I don’t enjoy–those, I read once and place on the shelf, never to be opened again.  Good books invite a second (and third) reading.  Mr. Tolkien knew how to write a good book.

Ah.  But, you’re not all LOTR nerds, are you?  I’ll hasten on, if only to keep that glazed look from overtaking the reader’s eyes.

To get to the point, I’ll say this:  Mr. Tolkien wrote of heroes; the screen-writer for the movie series had no use for heroes.

Not perfect heroes, anyway.  And, therein lies my profound disappointment.

This hero wasn’t one of the main characters in the story, the individuals who are with you from start to finish.  No, the hero whose sullying I decry in the movie series is a relatively minor character named Faramir.  He almost doesn’t warrant a mention at all in the list of important protagonists in the story.

One_RingIn the film version of the story, Faramir is captured by the lust of the article of power, the One Ring, and very nearly brings disaster to the entire quest.  He takes the main characters captive and carries them far out of their way and into more danger before coming to his senses and releasing them and their ring.

I nearly shouted out loud in the movie theater as I watched the movie with a group of family and friends.  This man’s words are burned into my mind from the multiple times I have read the book.

“Not if I found it on the highway would I take it!”

Like all true heroes, Faramir wasn’t even tempted by the lust of power and fame.  It held no influence–none–over him, as he went about his duties as a heroic soldier with a clear heart.

I didn’t shout in the theater.  Not aloud, anyway.

To this day though, I feel I have been robbed.  Personally–robbed.

I want my hero back.  Unstained.  Unblemished.

You laugh.  Not without reason.

It seems a foolish grudge to bear, does it not–this trifle about the accuracy of a fictional hero’s character?  I myself still struggle with the rationality of it.  And, after all this time, I think I begin to understand why it affected me so.

I want my hero back, but I know–deep down–there is no such man walking the earth.  Not one.

Not one man who can keep his promises without fail.  Not one person who has never hurt anyone for selfish reasons.  Not a single human being who is free of the stain of lust and desire.

I once believed such people walked the earth.  I repent of that foolishness.  I have seen my own heroes fall, one after the other.  They fall from the pedestals they were put on, or climbed upon themselves, but they fall.

Eventually, they all fall.

HumanNot heroes.

Every one.

It’s actually a good thing, having all your heroes fallen.  The disappointment–the depressing certainty that all is lost–is profound at first, but it eventually gives way to hopefulness.  You see, if heroes can stand in their own strength, there is no hope for the rest of us.  We mere mortals who give in to our base nature, the sin nature passed down to us through our human DNA, again and again, have no hope as long as there is one single person who doesn’t need grace.

There was only one True Hero.  Ever.  Only one.

He saw the temptation on the highway and passed it by.  On his way to a cross, He passed it by.  Power and fame were nothing to Him.

He passed it by.  Because He loved us more.

I have told you repeatedly that I am forever grateful for grace.  Grace says to each of us, every fallen one of us, “You get to be a hero again. Not because of what you can do, but because of what He did.”

And when we fall again (and we will fall again), grace offers another chance to be a hero.  And another.  And another.

I like second chances.  There is still hope the quest may end in triumph after all.  And somehow, hope seems to me to be better than a nonexistent hero.

I’m still angry about Faramir though.

Are you listening, Peter Jackson?

 

 

 

“‘Not if I found it on the highway would I take it,’ I said. “Even if I were such a man as to desire this thing, and even though I knew not clearly what this thing was when I spoke, still I should take those words as a vow, and be held by them.  But I am not such a man.  Or I am wise enough to know that there are some perils from which a man must flee.”
(from The Return of the King ~ J.R.R. Tolkien ~ English author ~ 1892-1973)

 

 

“Truly, truly, I say to you, whoever believes in Me will also do the works that I do; and greater works than these will he do, because I am going to the Father.”
(John 14:12 ~ ESV)

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.