Thursday, December 12, 2002

And they took offense at him. Mark 6: 3b

I was six when we moved to Kenosha. On my first day at my new school my big brothers were supposed to pick me up and walk me home for lunch. I didn't know the way. I didn't even know my new address or phone number. The problem with this plan was that the upper grades got out for lunch a full half an hour later than the lower grades. My mother didn't know this. I waited for a very time out in front of the school just where I was supposed to. It was March and while the sun shone brightly, it was bitter cold. My tears would burn and then freeze as I waited and waited and waited. Lots of kids passed me. Some were laughing. They were all staring at me. Even the adults passed me, laughing or scowling or just self-absorbed. No one cared. I did not belong. I felt rejected. Then, there was quiet. Everyone had gone home. Out of nowhere Jane appeared. Jane was apparently often "detained" (for reasons I would later learn about). Whatever sort of sinner Jane was in the eyes big people, Jane was my saint. She walked up to me and without even knowing my name, announced that she was taking me home for lunch. Her mother of course, was furious when she arrived home 35 minutes late with another child in tow. When her mother said that she had only prepared lunch for one, Jane insisted on sharing. No meal has ever tasted better, nor been more satisfying than that half a fish sandwich and cup of lukewarm, beef barley soup. There is no friendship that I cherish more than Jane's. No act of kindness is more meaningful than the kindness she extended to me as a stranger.

Kate Jones


All contents copyright 2002 by the Wisconsin Chapter of the Methodist Federation for Social Action. Permission is granted to United Methodist congregations, individuals and groups to reproduce and distribute this devotional without charge. All other use requires the advance permission of the editor.