“His kindness is all you need. His power is strongest when you are weak.” - - 2 Corinthians 12:9
The employer’s office was nothing special. There were no decorative touches; not a single splash of color in sight. The ceiling was a patchwork quilt of dingy acoustic tiles. No carpet to soften Chauncey’s leg nervously tapping the tiled floor as the employer scanned his application.
He needed this job, ANY job for that matter. But the odds worked against ex-cons. Grand theft - it was stupid . . . there were circumstances . . . he wanted a fresh start.
The employer spoke in a predictably condescending tone. “We’re a family owned business. My Dad and I have others to consider, applicants who haven’t stolen. I’m sorry.”
“You’re right,” Chauncey replied. “I’ll try hard to make things right this time.” The employer looked away. “Good luck,” he offered, then followed Chauncey out as if he’d steal something.
Then he saw it – a wallet amid the sidewalk’s slush. An answer to his prayers, it held several credit cards and a couple hundred in cash. He could buy a present for his daughter Abby and maybe even his wife Janice. Someday they’d be a family again.
Only one old man occupied the same side of the street. A quick look at the license photo confirmed that he was its rightful owner. Chauncey had stolen once out of necessity, but he wasn’t a thief.
“Excuse me, sir,” Chauncey yelled, jogging up behind the man. “I think you dropped your wallet.”
The man turned, his eyes widening with recognition. “Yes, of course,” and after a quick inventory, he said, “Thank you.”
Chauncey walked on into the icy wind, he’d seen enough accusatory eyes today. Approaching the halfway house, he noticed Janice out front and Abby racing toward him with open arms.
He hugged her like it was his job! Then to Janice, his eyes moistened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get the job.”
“Honey,” she said, with a smile so reassuring that it choked him up. “We’ve come to bring you home - that’s enough for us!” Tears trickled down his wind-burned cheeks.
The door to the halfway house banged open. Chauncey’s roommate flew out holding a cordless phone. “It’s for you buddy; a Mr. Roberts?”
Still holding Abby, Chauncey cradled the phone. “Yes?”
“The job’s yours if you want it,” said the employer.
“I do,” Chauncey replied, all the air escaping his chest. “What made you change your mind?”
“A cup of coffee with my Dad; I think the two of you met recently.”
Lord, will you please point me in the direction that serves a greater good? I’ve read Your promise that the door shall be opened to those who knock. I’ve sinned, I’ve been humbled . . . I’m knocking! Amen
