Over the next couple of weeks I want to share a short story I’ve written probing our sense of God’s call to ministry.
Al Chippingham lowered his six-foot-one-inch, slightly overweight, frame into a chair at Krankies, his favorite coffee house. He felt the pain of his new resolve to begin working out at the gym. Sports had never been his passion, but he recognized that he was nearing 40 and needed to pay attention to his weight. He reached for a napkin and began to clean his tri-focal glasses. He chided himself for feeling both nervous and excited at being here this morning.
A couple of weeks ago he received an email from a seminary classmate that he had lost touch with but never forgotten. He thought about his relationship with Carla Espinosa. She was a fiery Latina, one of the few Hispanics in the seminary. Her slim figure, olive toned complexion, and jet black hair immediately caught people’s attention, but her in-your-face, no injustice should be ignored, and no-barrier-too-high approach to life frightened most people, including Al. In contrast, he was shy, rather gangly, and found refuge in books and ideas. His debates were with professors and not front-line protests.
Yet, for some reason still a mystery to him, the two found a camaraderie that transcended their differences. It wasn’t a romantic relationship but rather a respectful exchange of ideas that both found stimulating. Well, Al thought, I guess we did have one date–sort of. They were both in a class that focused on social issues. As they were discussing the issue of race and discrimination, someone spoke of a scene from Gone With the Wind. Both Al and Carla admitted that they had never seen the movie. Near the end of their final semester, Al noticed that the movie was being shown in a classic film series in a nearby community. They decided to go together.
That was nine years ago. Then they graduated, said friendly goodbyes, promised to keep in touch, and went their separate ways. He remembered a year ago seeing an article in the newspaper on immigration and border crossings. Right in the middle of the article was a picture of five-foot-two-inch Carla standing toe to toe with a beefy six-foot-four-inch border guard arguing her case. He had chuckled at the time and thought to himself; Carla hasn’t changed a bit. He wanted to get in touch but felt that would be intrusive, so he just admired her courage from afar.
(Continued tomorrow)
