A Challenge to Love (A True Story)

As a home-schooling family, we often mingled book lessons, laughter, the great outdoors, and our walk with Christ. It wasn’t unusual to talk our way through the zoo, a long nature hike, or natural history museum. At the zoo or natural history museum, we’d discuss the errors of evolution by pointing out how the Bible says God made things. Then we sought interesting books at the gift shop for further research. On our hikes, notebooks were frequently whipped out to sketch the various trees and fauna around us; as well as the birds, insects, reptiles and mammals we encountered. Comparisons were made: is it a deciduous or coniferous tree? This vine with “leaves of three”: is it poison ivy, oak, or sumac? What bird sings that trill? What bird makes that call?
After such an intensive field trip, we were famished! Traditionally we packed a large picnic lunch, and headed toward a park with picnic tables, or spread a blanket under a tree.
On such an afternoon we encountered him...the boy with the tall green Mohawk, leather jacket, and spiked dog collar around his neck. He’d seen us from afar, and slowly made his way toward us as I laid out our lunch.
Eric* and I had noticed him in the distance. Military life had taught us to always be on the alert, and we carried that over in our child-rearing. Keeping one eye on our three, and the other on the approaching stranger, we prayed silently. What did he want? Would he pass by us, or have something to say? We asked the Lord for protection of our children, and wisdom for whatever came.
“Lunch!” I announced, and everyone bounded for the picnic table. Handi-Wipes were produced and everyone dutifully scrubbed. After Eric led our song of thanksgiving, I produced the fried chicken.
The boy with the Mohawk, who I’ll call “Cody*,” approached the table.
“Excuse me, but, may I have a little of your food? I...I haven’t eaten for a couple of days.” He looked humbly; first at me, then at Eric.
Eric invited the hungry young man to sit next to our teenage boy, Ezra*. As he did, we all told him our names. He said he was Cody.
I smiled at him. He couldn’t be much older than my own son!, I thought as I handed him a paper plate with a piece of chicken on it.
“Try some of Mom’s potato salad,” Ezra offered the youth. “It’s the best!”
The boy accepted the food and cup of juice with an eager nod. He ate as if he hadn’t had a good meal for some time.
Eric asked casually, “Are you from here, Cody?”
“No. Mom and Pop got divorced, and didn’t want me around, so I’ve been on my own ever since.”
“How long has that been?” Eric asked in concern.
“About four years.” the young man answered quietly.
“Have you called your mother, Cody? Let her know you’re okay?” I asked, with an aching mother-heart.
Shifting in his seat uncomfortably, he said, “I called her the first Christmas, but Mama’s new husband wouldn’t let me talk to her or my little brothers. Said I’d better not call again. So I haven’t. Sent one of my brothers a postcard for his birthday. I don’t know if he got it or not.” The boy sat silently staring at his plate.
Quiet pity engulfed us. I tried to think of a way to break the solemnity. “Well…Does anyone want desert? I brought pie and cookies. Take what you want, but eat what you take!” I added, eyeing my daughters.
Cody was thrilled at the prospect of cherry pie, and ate it with vigor. Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, he rose. He looked toward the parking lot. Then we saw his friends—a rough looking group of young men--who were waiting on him. “I should go. I...can’t thank ya’ll enough for the meal. It was real good.”
Ezra stood next to him and handed him a New Testament with a smile. “Take this, Cody. It’s got the best roadmap to get you Home.” Cody accepted it with a quizzical look.
Eric wrote on the back of a tract. “Here’s our phone number, Cody, and the number of a pastor we know in the area. Maybe you’d like to visit one of us sometime.” Cody stuffed the tract and New Testament into his pocket with a slight smile and nod.
Wrapping up some left-over lunch in a bag, I handed it and a half-loaf of bread to our guest. “Please consider us friends, Cody. We’ll be praying for you. Now, you’ll be hungry later. Take this with you,” I said with a smile.
Choking his thanks, Cody wistfully turned to go. We watched his determined ascent up the hill to join his gang. Waving to him as a final gesture of Christian love, we sank down to our bench. “Let’s pray for Cody,” Eric said; and fervent prayers went up for the lost young man. Even today, many years after, we remember our unusual friend in our prayers.
That sunny afternoon in a city park was one of the most important lessons we learned that day in our home-school. For, while we’d worked with food pantries and rescue missions, we’d never had such an encounter before. In a new way we were taught the simple joy in sharing your meal with the hungry. We were reminded too that extending ourselves in the name of the Lord is one of the best ways we could spend an afternoon. No matter how he looked or the company he kept, he was a soul for whom Christ died. Because Jesus loved him, we must love him, too; and seek to win him to the Saviour.
That sort of education doesn’t occur in the antiseptic atmosphere of a classroom. It happens as people step out of their comfort zones and accept the challenge to love in Jesus’ name.
Herein is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us, and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we ought also to love one another (1 John 4:10-11 ).

~Friends who wish to remain ‘Anonymous’
*Names were changed.