My day job involves working with people trying to keep their homes, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Doing my job, you develop a thick skin and learn how to ask the customers for the info you need to process their modification applications. I talked to this man on the phone who was out of options, but I still needed something from him.
He was an older Latino man, and he kind of sounded like my grandpa. Maybe that's why I reacted so strongly to him. I'm not sure but I do know he had zero incentive to work with me, and he had already moved out of the property. Most people in that situation are at best apathetic and at times quite brutal, but this man was so kind it moved me. I asked him if he received any kind of assistance since he said he was no longer working. "No" he said, he lived at the church. He thanked me profusely for my call and was intent to do what I needed for my purposes. Again he had no incentive. He had no money. He had no job, yet he was supernaturally kind to me. He was grateful. He was a living epistle.
I never realized how often I complain until I saw myself through the prism of this man. I realized I'm not that grateful. I understood at that moment that if he can be such a beautiful example of a Christian in his situation, it means I can never complain, because I have too much to be grateful for.
When I get to be that age, I pray that I am half as strong as that man was, half as humble, half as noble. When I hung up with him, I was moved nearly to tears. I'm not sure if he will ever know how much he impacted me, but I will not soon forget him or his example. He was amazing. And that's how the old man made me cry.
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