DMV = Weirdness Land
My mom and I headed to the neighboring town of Bremerton yesterday to get our driver's licenses changed with our new address. We encountered a whole new area, and not one we would care to visit often. Bremerton is a navy base and is therefore a hub of...everything and everybody.
The DMV was located in a run-down strip of stores. The first weird thing I enountered before opening the door was music playing outside. I thought maybe it was coming from some other place, but no, it was their speakers outside. Not inside. And it wasn't the rock or jazz you might expect, but rather very nice classical or easy listening type music. Hm. We walked in to the white-tiled, white-walled sterile room. On each side were rows of chairs with a number of people sitting there doing nothing but waiting. So each person who came in became an object of idle interest. Of course we had to walk clear to the other side of the room to get our number, so I could just feel 100 eyes boring into us as we walked. My mom and I had, unplanned and unbeknownst (until too late), both worn jean skirts and yellow sweaters. Matchy matchy! That made us even more of an object of curiosity in that room.
As soon as we got our numbers, we found a seat and proceeded to watch everyone else. :-) It didn't take us long to feel like strangers in a strange land. Being the afternoon, there were a number of teens waiting for their test or picture or something. Boy, that brought back memories of my first test -- the nervousness, the excitement, the relief. There were a few military looking guys. A family in front of us, comprised of a white dad, black mom, son and his girlfriend, kept discussing how the numbering system worked. It appeared to be a mystery to them. A tall blonde walked in with fitted jeans, t-shirt, and cowboy boots. I didn't check, but I might place her at 6 feet tall. Two youngish guys walked in. I'm not sure if they were related, but they both had bushy goatees. My mom made a comment about wanting to yank them, so I bleated, "baaaaa." Giggles followed.
The most colorful characters that came in were a father and daughter. We hope they were father and daughter anyway. He was the image of a French artist -- bald with a cocky blue beret on his head, a white tee or undershirt layered over with a slightly wrinkled blue oxford with rolled up sleeves. He had a couple necklaces around his neck. He was most probably a smoker because he had fairly wrinkled dry skin. But he strutted with a confidence and flair that indeed made him appear to be something straight from 1920 Paris. His daughter also appeared European because of her clothing style. They spoke normal English though. Her clothing is not something I can describe to a mixed audience, but I would question her moral history because of it. Probably in her early 20s, she was lively, jittery, and probably a smoker and drug user. The Lord gave me such compassion for her, and for some of the time I just prayed for her.
I realized as I sat there with all these colorful characters that I wouldn't necessarily care to associate with, that these were the people Jesus associated with. He looked on such people with wondrous compassion and reached to them in their deepest need. The Lord convicted me on the spot of a Pharasaical attitude and showed me that this was an opportunity for prayer, that maybe we'd been brought there at that particular time for the very purpose of prayer. It's a little overwhelming to know how to pray for these needy people, but most of all, I just prayed that God would deliver them from the clutches of sin and Satan. I wonder how my attitude toward all people would change if I automatically prayed for each one I encountered? Maybe love would become more natural.
Oops, sorry this is so long!
The DMV was located in a run-down strip of stores. The first weird thing I enountered before opening the door was music playing outside. I thought maybe it was coming from some other place, but no, it was their speakers outside. Not inside. And it wasn't the rock or jazz you might expect, but rather very nice classical or easy listening type music. Hm. We walked in to the white-tiled, white-walled sterile room. On each side were rows of chairs with a number of people sitting there doing nothing but waiting. So each person who came in became an object of idle interest. Of course we had to walk clear to the other side of the room to get our number, so I could just feel 100 eyes boring into us as we walked. My mom and I had, unplanned and unbeknownst (until too late), both worn jean skirts and yellow sweaters. Matchy matchy! That made us even more of an object of curiosity in that room.
As soon as we got our numbers, we found a seat and proceeded to watch everyone else. :-) It didn't take us long to feel like strangers in a strange land. Being the afternoon, there were a number of teens waiting for their test or picture or something. Boy, that brought back memories of my first test -- the nervousness, the excitement, the relief. There were a few military looking guys. A family in front of us, comprised of a white dad, black mom, son and his girlfriend, kept discussing how the numbering system worked. It appeared to be a mystery to them. A tall blonde walked in with fitted jeans, t-shirt, and cowboy boots. I didn't check, but I might place her at 6 feet tall. Two youngish guys walked in. I'm not sure if they were related, but they both had bushy goatees. My mom made a comment about wanting to yank them, so I bleated, "baaaaa." Giggles followed.
The most colorful characters that came in were a father and daughter. We hope they were father and daughter anyway. He was the image of a French artist -- bald with a cocky blue beret on his head, a white tee or undershirt layered over with a slightly wrinkled blue oxford with rolled up sleeves. He had a couple necklaces around his neck. He was most probably a smoker because he had fairly wrinkled dry skin. But he strutted with a confidence and flair that indeed made him appear to be something straight from 1920 Paris. His daughter also appeared European because of her clothing style. They spoke normal English though. Her clothing is not something I can describe to a mixed audience, but I would question her moral history because of it. Probably in her early 20s, she was lively, jittery, and probably a smoker and drug user. The Lord gave me such compassion for her, and for some of the time I just prayed for her.
I realized as I sat there with all these colorful characters that I wouldn't necessarily care to associate with, that these were the people Jesus associated with. He looked on such people with wondrous compassion and reached to them in their deepest need. The Lord convicted me on the spot of a Pharasaical attitude and showed me that this was an opportunity for prayer, that maybe we'd been brought there at that particular time for the very purpose of prayer. It's a little overwhelming to know how to pray for these needy people, but most of all, I just prayed that God would deliver them from the clutches of sin and Satan. I wonder how my attitude toward all people would change if I automatically prayed for each one I encountered? Maybe love would become more natural.
Oops, sorry this is so long!
posted by Kristi | 11:31 AM
3 Comments:
I really like your title...:)
Matchy matchy?! Good one! I daresay, praying for crazy, I mean needy people keeps you from feeling hopeless about the things you see, and it certainly does them good. It certainly can't be wasted, can it? I mean, if our tears are kept track of, our random acts of kindness via prayers must make a difference.
It is a pity, that now I can not express - it is very occupied. I will return - I will necessarily express the opinion.
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home