The Sower (II)
“You know I’m broken,” she says.
He nods, understanding her need to continue her
story without interruption.
“I’ve never been loved. Not a real love. I’ve been used. People have said they loved me, but they
always wanted something in return.
That’s the way it is with love… right?
It’s never free.”
“You think there’s a monetary price?” He asks.
She pauses for a moment, but responds before he can
fill the void. “No not monetary.
Sometimes I wish that’s all that was involved, money. Sometimes the price is pain, emotional,
physical. Sometimes there is
humiliation. I’ve been stripped, I bear
my soul… and then I’m tossed out like the trash.”
“That isn’t love.”
“They call it love.”
“Just saying,” he adds.
“My mother called it love.”
“But do you think it was love?” He asks.
“I wanted her to love me. She told me once she considered abortion. I feel sometimes, it would have been better
than what she gave me. She rarely held
me… that I remember. I mean maybe she
held me when I was an infant.”
“She’s dead, you know. She drank herself into an early grave. I can still see the empty bottles on the
kitchen counter. I was twenty when she
died. I didn’t feel nothing. I should have… I think, but there is nothing
inside me to feel. She ripped out my
heart and sold it on the street.”
“What about your father?” He asks.
“What about him?”
“What is he like?”
“Couldn’t tell you.
My mother said he took off two months before I was born. Can’t see what benefit there would have been
having him around. He couldn’t have been
much better than her.”
He nods again in complete agreement.
“So I’m here.
You asked me to come. Don’t
preach about my need to straighten out my life.
This is the best I can ever be.”
“You don’t think there’s any hope for anything
more?”
She looked down at the palms of her hands, not
wanting to let her eyes meet his.
“I had hope once,” she says softly. “But even God
refused me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Sin… look at me, I am sin. I’ve lied, I’ve cheated, I’ve sold my
flesh. So when I tried to go to Him… He
turned me away. I don’t deserve crumbs
from off His table.”
“You do though.
You deserve more than crumbs. You
deserve to sit at the table and share in the meal.”
“I’ve heard all that.”
“In a church?”
“In a soup kitchen, when I was a kid. My mother use to take me there when she
didn’t feel like putting food on our table.”
“Maybe she couldn’t put food on the table.”
She sat back in her chair and slowly shook her
head. “She had plenty for herself. I
hate Big Macs.”
“So, people spoke about God at this soup kitchen?”
“It was run by a church. Religious folks can’t help it. They like to share their revelations with
you.” She placed quotes around the word ‘revelations’ with her index fingers.
“Sometimes they would share a Bible passage or two. I just ate.
I was always too hungry to listen.
“I remember hearing a story about a man planting
seeds, a sower,” she adds as an afterthought.
“A Parable,” he offers.
“A what?”
“A Parable.
Jesus told Parables to help the people relate His teaching about God’s
kingdom to their everyday life.”
“Really. Why
not just say what you want… clearly?”
“I guess a Parable stays with you for a longer
time. Take the sower, had Jesus simply
said, ‘Some people hear the Good News and Spread it, while others don’t even
listen, yet some hear, respond briefly, before falling back into their evil
ways,’ would the teaching have lasted… thousands of years?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“In that soup kitchen a seed was sown. I don’t think you’d be here today if it
wasn’t.”
“I was a little kid and I picked up on a story told
to me by some old church lady who felt she could save the world. You want me to believe she planted a seed.”
“Of faith.”
“And that’s why I’m here?”
“Why are you here?” He asks.
She pauses for a long moment. He considers maybe he has pushed too
far. Maybe her ears are not ready to be
receptive.
“This is where it was… The soup kitchen. That’s why I’m here. This room was full of long tables and dozens
of chairs. They served two or three
meals a day. Somedays I was here more
than once.”
“Man needs more than bread. In those days there must have been a need, a
calling by those in this community, to feed the impoverished bodies of the
hungry. These days there is more need to
nourish the spirit with God’s word.”
“But there are still folks who are hungry… for
food,” she adds.
“And ministries that will answer their needs. You have not come here for bread, water or a
bowl of hot soup. You are here because God’s spirit has touched you, led you to
this place.”
“A seed sown years ago… when I was hungry for
bread.”
He pauses for a log moment, seeking the gaze of her
eyes. He notes their color. A deep shade of brown. Their depth shows pain and anguish. He recognizes the loneliness in her
heart. He was once as she is.
“So tell me child,” he says, “what has the seed
sown in you become?”
copyright 2020 - Donald P James Jr
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