I met God in the park.
He was wearing blue jeans, a plaid checkered shirt of red and white, and a navy-blue suit jacket. His gray hair laid hidden and combed under a beige hat. His features were big and kind, especially his eyes. My friend Lise and my ministry host Ana were already engaged in conversation with him and I was invited over. I sat down at his feet and he gave me something to sit on, a Styrofoam board he carried with him for this purpose, to make my stay more comfortable.
His name is Carp, and he changed my day.
I had an almost-gone-flat-white in one hand and a warm piece of rosemary olive oil bread in the other, so a little sheepishly I offered him some of the bread. He chuckled affectionally and said no thank you, and I laughed too, in appreciation of the genuineness of our interaction.
I had been having a really hard day before sitting down at his feet. It was just one of those days where once you cry about one thing, you cry about all the things. Maybe you know what I’m talking about? My heart felt cracked open and when I walked, I felt it dragging behind me. Cracked. That’s where the light gets in.
Earlier that day I had struggled to leave the house for ministry, knowing that we would be walking around building relationships, putting ourselves out there in conversation to be asked questions and ask them back. Kind of daunting when you’ve cried in every one-on-one conversation you’ve had since 10 am. So before leaving the house, I asked my mentor Kate to pray for me to walk in spiritual boldness. I asked God to encourage me while I was out, by giving me some kind of physical detail to remind me that He was with me. Maybe a red flower or something.
It turned out to be a red pepper.
After sitting down to join Carp and my friends, he reached into the bag next to himself and he handed me one of the purest red bell peppers I have tasted to date. I noticed Lise was already eating one, and Ana had one too. He smiled and waited for me to try it. He had gone shopping for the week’s groceries, and the first thing he did with his fresh food was share with strangers. It reminds me of the kind of lives we should live, where strangers become neighbors. He was loving his neighbors. They really were some of the best red peppers I’d ever had. I wrapped the rest of the pepper in napkins and put it in my purse, explaining that I wanted to take it home to Kate. I wanted to share every part of the story of meeting him with her, even the taste of the pepper.
I shared with Carp that I had asked God to show up for me in a detail, to encourage me that He was with me today. This conversation was that answered prayer. I told him that his eyes hold incredible kindness. He thought about it for a second, and he looked back almost sad but no less kind, and he said,
“I’ve lost a lot for being kind.”
I asked him if he still thought it was worth it, to be kind even when it hurts. Even when we lose.
“For God, yes. It is always worth it.”
Later we would find out some of the things he has lost. He told us about the sibling rivalry that emerged after his father’s death, the ways his sisters fought for what he had instead of mourning what they’d all just lost. It is worth it to be kind. It is worth it to forgive. I was so encouraged by his perseverance even in his pain.
He continued sharing his life with us, including the good and beautiful things. He told us the story of his grandsons being baptized, and he laughed talking about how as babies they squirmed in the cold water the priest poured on their heads. It’s funny to him now because of how much they love the water, how now they swim in the bathtub like it’s a pool they never want to leave.
He talked about his father, and the strong character he had from working in fields and going to war. It made sense to me that this man had a good dad. He was a good dad, too. Carp absolutely adores people, particularly children. He kept calling Lise and I children. It was equally humbling and comforting. We took a picture with him, and Lise’s sweater left lint all over his blue suit jacket. She started apologizing frantically, and he just smiled and cupped her face. He wasn’t angry. He was forgiving.
His demeanor was soft and easily humored. He held a quiet strength from enduring hard times. He valued sitting with company. He was a good storyteller. He loved his neighbors.
His name is Carp, and he changed my day.
