Originally I wasn't going to do the whole #26acts thing. It was just another trend, another New Years Resolution that most people would forget about or give up on when the memories of the Sandy Hook Shooting become a little less raw, more callused. After all, think back to the Columbine shooting... do we remember the shooters' names? Can you (without going to Google) name one victim? It is a sad thing, but in time, we wont really remember those kinds of details about Sandy Hook either. The skeptic in me was shouting "Why bother? In 6 months no one will care."
I couldn't let that voice win... When I typed "26 Acts" into the Google search bar the first thing to come up was a Bible verse Acts 26:9, spoken by Paul (formerly Saul) "I too was convinced that I ought to do all that was possible to oppose the name of Jesus of Nazareth." In the Cross Reference bar there was another verse John 15:21 "They will treat you this way because of my name, for they do not know the One who sent me." The verse from Acts is Paul explaining his former life as Saul, to King Agrippa, and trying to explain why he had persecuted saints and thrown them in prison. While reading these verses I remembered who God has called us to be, what he has called us to be. We're supposed to be different, to try to be better than that, that callus or the "why should I care" mentality.
Going beyond just the 26 would not only make me feel better about me, to feel happier, but it also shines God's light through me. Who knows who might have a better day or smile just a little bit more if we just held a door 10 seconds longer, or pay the next person's toll. I've already heard a woman at our church talking about the fact that the person in front of her in the drive-through at chick-fil-a paid for her breakfast. It made her day.So as I sat at lunch on a Sunday afternoon, enjoying the last bite of my overly-filling Mexican lunch I heard music. Outside, in front of the restaurant, a man in a brown coat, jeans, old shoes, and a beanie stood playing a guitar with a crack running down the side. On a bench sat a tie dye bandana with a pretty jelly jar sitting on it for tips. His hair was greyed and his beard was long but he played, sang, and walked up and down the sidewalk.
Normally I might scoff or wonder if he was really homeless or poor. I mean, I feel terrible for the truly poor and homeless but too often, in our city, people dress up and act poor to get money and then go home to a nice warm house with hundreds of dollars that truly poor people could have used. I've helped other individuals but the skeptic voice was starting to clear her throat for another lecture.
I sighed and looked at our table, two bowls of chips sat untouched, soon to be thrown away after we left. Cups of salsa, brand new, would be dumped down a drain, and outside a man with a cracked guitar sang joyfully in the cold. The waitress came back to the table with the checks. "Can we get a box?" My mom smiled, she was thinking the same thing. We'd both noticed him and talked about him a little. He might be hungry, surely it couldn't hurt to offer.
As our families stepped outside he was pacing the sidewalk. I walked up with the box, stuffed to the point of almost not closing with tortilla chips. I explained that I didn't have any cash, but we had chips and salsa if he'd like them. In a soft and kind voice, with a smile he replied that he'd love them. I passed him the box and wished him a Merry Christmas.
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The Above will be updated as more acts happen, and the stories will be added bellow.
