Something extra - from Bart Campolo

I just posted this on my Musings of a Scottish Pastor blog (http://www.scottishpastormusings.blogspot.com/).
Found it just what I needed to read today. Maybe you will as well.
It's an email from my friend Bart Campolo (he's coming to Redeemer's Church on Sunday April 18 to preach at our services - great Sunday). He works in the projects of Cincinnati and he sent out this email today:

Dear Friends,

As much as she doesn’t belong there, I almost left Denise in jail. The $400 it cost to get her out is a lot of money, after all, especially for a woman surviving on food stamps in a $25 per month HUD apartment our fellowship covers to keep her off the street. Then again, we cover it because we know she’s too sick and disabled to work, let alone do jail time.

Of course, as a taxpayer I understand the county’s case against Denise, whose three kids were raised entirely on county funds despite the fact that neither parent ever paid a dollar in child support. I understand why they want the more than $15,000 she still owes, and why they call it contempt of court when she is consistently unable to pay even her $65 monthly minimum. What I don’t understand is why the judge continues her case every few months, even though it’s obvious she’s permanently broke, or how it helps anyone to lock her up for missing one of those countless court dates, like they did last week.

“I can’t do this, Bart!” she wailed into the phone. Just the night before we had celebrated her long-awaited return to our Monday night dinner, after she nearly died of pancreatitis. Now she was worried about having to move too much, and losing sleep, and missing her medications. “I’m gonna die in here,” she cried.

I felt sorry for her, of course, but I also felt frustrated and angry with her. After all the time fellowship folks have spent hustling around for her these past few years, and all the money we’ve spent on her rent and prescriptions and household needs, and all the phone calls and application forms and letters and hospital visits, how could Denise mess everything up by forgetting her court date? Forget becoming an addict and abandoning her kids in the first place; I almost left someone I claim to love in jail for the higher crime of stupidly inconveniencing me once too often.

Or maybe I almost left her there because I couldn’t stand the thought of having to listen to Denise whine and complain and blame everybody but herself for her troubles all the way home. Maybe I’m just up to here with people telling me about how it was the boss’s fault they got fired, or the teacher’s fault they got suspended, or their friend’s fault they got arrested, or their lawyer’s fault they got convicted, or their landlord’s fault they got evicted, or the minister’s fault they quit going to church.

In any case, the next morning I paid the purge order, drove down to the county jail, and gritted my teeth as Denise got into my car. And then it happened.

“Bart,” she said, “As soon as they told me I was getting out, I knew it was y’all that did it. And I’m just so thankful that I have this fellowship family that does so much for me. But all last night I was laying there feeling sorry for myself, and I got to thinking how all of this is my own fault, and how it wasn’t anybody else’s job to remind me of my court dates or take me to them or anything. I know I told you I couldn’t do it, but I was wrong. If I had to stay there for a week or a month, I decided I wasn’t gonna complain or blame anybody, I was just gonna pray to God and hang on. It was me that put me in this situation, not you or nobody else.”

To me, it was a pure miracle. My frustration, my anger, all gone in an instant. That was all I wanted, I suddenly realized. That’s all most of us want, most of the time, Almighty God included. Not perfection. Not even close to perfection. All we really want is for the people in our lives—our friends, our spouses, our children—to just take responsibility when they let us down. We can put up with a lot, we can forgive a lot, and we can help with a lot, and even do it with a smile most of the time, if only the person who blows it is just willing to admit that they are the person who blew it, not us, not somebody else. That, mixed together with a little genuine gratitude…my God, it is the jet fuel of compassion, the wonder drug for an ailing love.

I didn’t drive Denise straight home. I took her out to lunch first.
Sincerely,

Bart

Just stirred me - hope it has you.