The Creek Kingdom (Part 2)

There was a part of the story which played into my distress, which I omitted in the first post because it seemed petty. In January, I bought a nice coat for traveling to Nepal with a gift card I got for Christmas. Upon checking out, I asked them what would happen if it got ripped.

-Don't worry. We'll just swap it out and get a voucher from the manufacturer.

I tore the fabric of the coat on a car door handle. I brought it to the store on Sunday, after that sermon on Acts, before seeing the cop run down the homeless guy, and they refused to exchange it.

So, while there were plenty of big issues to be upset about, I was already predisposed to think of the world as a cruel place. Sometimes my big distresses come from embarrassingly small incidents.

*

The morning after the nightmares and the writing of the preceding post, not having slept more than an hour, I picked up Nivin for a Refugee Beads event. Ruthie had to leave early, so I gave Nivin a ride to the school where they were speaking, and she asked how I was.

I told her a little bit, mainly the part about not sleeping, wondering about the disconnect between our ministry and the ministry done in the Bible. Saying it seemed to me like broken things stay broken.

She said, basically, that I just don't see the results yet. That God uses us in ways we don't understand.

I wish I had recorded it. I have very little memory of the exact words, since my mind was somewhat disengaged at that point, but I remember watching the road, listening, thinking about the kids and what we hope for them, and knowing that whether or not we turn the city or neighborhood or even one family upside down, that Love is doing a small, good thing here.

*

That evening, I walked up to my door to find the words "FUCK IAN" written in sharpie on the wall by our door. I know who wrote it. I had asked him to apologize for calling a third-grade girl a whore, and he stormed out instead.

I kicked a chair over when we got inside. I fumed around the room. I was just barely hanging on.

Ruthie's sister told us to try nailpolish remover. It took about two minutes to clean the graffiti off. I didn't know what to do about the kid who wrote it. He wasn't talking to me apart from the writing on my wall.

*

Today, my friend Jarrett called the store about my coat. I asked him to act on my behalf since I'm non-confrontational. He told them the situation, asked what could be done, and, upon hanging up, announced that corporate had e-mailed the store, and that I could get my coat back.

When we went to the store to make the exchange, we found that the coat was now on sale for $70 less than I bought it for. So I got a new coat and $70 back from the purchase.

It was hard not to feel elated leaving the store. If the store had accepted my first attempt to exchange it, I wouldn't have made the extra $70.

*

Inevitably, as we drove away from the store, I thought about all the other, more significant injustices that were wearing on me.

At first, I felt stupid for feeling happy about the coat. Then later, I wondered if somehow I couldn't read this as a sign of greater things to come. If this little working out could precipitate bigger workings out, or at least it could show me how limited my perspective is.

Which was the whole point of my first post. That there is too much I can't see. That I experience and respond to this tiny sliver of what's really, actually going on.

The difference is whether I feel hope or despair in response to that fact. That's a question of Faith, and mine is admittedly weak. Sometimes a coat can make or break it.

*

Today, a new tag appeared on the wall. In the same handwriting, "Ian is Gay."

I took about 30 seconds to clean it off the wall with nail polish remover. My new goal is to spend less time removing the graffiti than this angry teenager spends making it.