Christian Living

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It was a hot day – hot for autumn, anyway. There was a big cattle sale on today, as all the farmers offloaded their stock ahead of a dry winter. No rain, just blue skies with the haze of smoke from grassfires in the distant horizon.

I was driving through town when I saw her.

She was walking along the side of the street in her short black skirt and black boots, finger pointing out, signalling for a lift. Her dark skin and bleached white hair distinguished her from other locals in this small town. I knew the woman vaguely; I’d met her one time when she helped with an art workshop for the local indigenous kids.

I slowed down and pulled to the side of the road. She was behind me, and I watched her in the mirror, running to catch up to my car. I picked my bag and papers off the front seat and threw them into the back.

She bent down and looked at me through the open window, with her hand on the door.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Just up the road,” she let me know.

The woman got in and I moved my lunch box over to between the seats. A half-eaten sandwich lay inside, showing I was eating on the run.

“Busy day,” she noted, looking at my sandwich.

“Yeah,” I smiled and started off again.

The woman gave me directions and introduced herself as ‘Rose’. Of course, I already knew her but she wouldn’t recognise me. Compared to her striking appearance I was fairly nondescript and easy to forget.

“I have met you before, with some art workshop you did with Maria.”

“Oh, really! That’s a long time ago,” she mused, and nodded to herself. Rose pointed to a caravan park along the way. “See, that’s where I’d be stopping to get a drink if you hadn’t given me a lift.”

I nodded. “It’s a hot day, hey,” I agreed. “I’m going to the Summit, if you want to go further.”

“No, no. Just up the road will do me. That’s where I’m living now. Thank you so much for giving me a lift.”

“No worries,” I said.

We passed the showgrounds where scores of portable metal yards contained calves, waiting to be sold at the market. “See there?” Rose pointed.

I looked past the tall mesh fence to the buildings, rickety seating and show-ring.

She continued, “There was a sign up saying animal nursery, so I went in and asked the lady at the office where the baby animals were. She just looked at me like I was a piece of dirt. ‘Baby animals? No... no baby animals.’” Rose put on a monotone voice.

“Yeah, there’s an animal nursery on Sundays, down there in the shed,” I explained. “Kittens, puppies, chickens, ducks and stuff. Some are for sale.”

“Oooh, that would be nice; I’d really like to see that,” Rose said. “But the lady said, ‘No baby animals – no baby animals….’” Rose mocked the lady’s drone. She looked out of the window, watching the dry grass go by.

“I’m thinking of getting out of this place, you know,” she told me.

I laughed. “Sick of the town, hey?”

“I think this town’s sick of me,” she said. I was surprised at her astuteness.

Rose is one of those individuals who would be more suited for a city life, but circumstances brought her back to our town. Rural areas such as this hold an old-fashioned mentality, with conservative ideas. People who are different are often seen as a threat to the security of the majority. Her racial background also probably brought her more criticism and discrimination.

I imagined the dismissive tone of the lady at the show office. I was glad I was able to give Rose some answers about the animal nursery, in some sort of atonement for the other woman’s attitude.

We came to the intersection where Rose would be getting out. I drove through and pulled up in the side street.

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Rose grabbed my hand, then kissed me on the cheek. “I really appreciate it. Thank you!”

I smiled and wished her a good afternoon. Rose got out and stood on the roadside. She smiled and called out again, “Thank you!”

I turned the car around and waved as I continued on my way. I could see her in my mirror, standing by the country street. Her black lace and party clothes seemed incongruous on a hot April day in this ordinary town.

As I left her behind, I mulled over the encounter I’d had.

I know of other Christians who use every opportunity to witness to people they meet. Hitchhikers are often ‘captive audiences’ to whom they can share the gospel, listen to their story and then pray with at the end of the journey. Other Christians are able to hand out tracts to those they come in contact with.

My own practice is nothing like that. I don’t often think of talking about God with strangers. I keep forgetting to carry a stash of religious magazines in the glove-box and my short trips around town usually don’t provide the opportunity for lengthy heart-to-heart conversations.

But is that all bad? I wonder about my example as I chat to people, usually the rough-around-the-edges sorts. I try to be cheerful and empathetic. Even on a hot or stormy day the simple act of giving someone a much-needed lift can be a blessing in itself. I console myself that I could do worse.

This is a recurring dilemma I wrestle with. Perhaps one day, God will show me the ‘right’ thing to do.

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“The righteous will then answer him, ‘When, Lord, when did we ever see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you a drink? When did we ever see you a stranger and welcome you in our homes, or naked and clothe you? When did we ever see you sick or in prison, and visit you?’ The King will reply, ‘I tell you, whenever you did this for one of the least important of these followers of mine, you did it for me!’”
- Matthew 25:37-40 (Good News Bible)

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