Stumbling Down the Road

I was on my way home that afternoon when I noticed a man walking on the sidewalk.  He was staggering all over the place to the point that I slowed down as I passed him for fear he might step off the sidewalk and out into the road. As I slowly drove past I realized who he was.  He used to be our neighbor.  Someone we’ve known for some time.  I was surprised to see him obviously intoxicated and stumbling down the sidewalk in the middle of the afternoon.  

As I pulled up to the stop light a police car was pulling alongside the man, and I suspected someone had made a call to let them know that he needed help. I knew that he and his wife had had a child die not too long ago.  And my occasional thoughts since of wondering how they were doing had been answered.  

The rest of the way home my thoughts lingered on the man and his grief.  And how being drunk and stumbling down the road in the middle of the afternoon was essentially letting the rest of his friends and neighbors know that he was struggling.  That he’d lost his balance.  That the grief was so heavy he was staggering under the weight of it.  Just trying to find his way.

I thought too of all the times in my life when I’ve struggled, and the ways I’ve behaved which let those around me know that I wasn’t okay.  No, I’ve never stumbled down the sidewalk drunk.  But I’ve had meltdowns, and behaved poorly. I’ve been rude and thoughtless. I’ve been so full of self-pity at times that I couldn’t see beyond myself.  I have stumbled down the road.

Fortunately, so far in my stumblings, I have been surrounded by grace. Family and friends, neighbors and coworkers, who care enough about me to hang in there even in the face of my ugliest behaviors.  With grace enough to stand by and help me find my way home.  Grace enough to reach out and make sure I’m okay.  When I angrily say that I am fine.  And I so clearly am not.  

I have been surrounded by grace.  And faithfulness.

Those around me who have stayed nearby, making sure I get where I’m going have been faithful in their efforts.  Even though I push them away and say I can do it on my own.  They’ve been faithful.  They’ve known that I couldn’t.  And that my pride alone wasn’t going to keep me safe.  My pride wasn’t going to see me though.  I needed help.  So they stood off a ways, ready just in case.  Faithful to who they are, and to what they believe.  Protecting, making sure I didn’t stagger out into traffic. Standing guard whether I thought I needed them to or not.  And most of the time I did.

I have been gifted with grace and faithfulness.  And tolerance.

Those close enough to me to know the truth of my shortcomings, have tolerated me no matter what.  Not necessarily tolerated my bad behavior.  But tolerated ME, regardless of my behavior.  Tolerating ME does not mean approving of all that I do.  I know that.  So do they.  My family and friends, neighbors and coworkers, have tolerated me.  Even at my worst.  Not made excuses for me.  Not pretended that I didn’t err, and I have erred, but have chosen to love me all the same.

I have been overwhelmingly blessed.  With grace, faithfulness, and tolerance.  Gifts.  Given to me in abundance by those around me.    

I saw our former neighbor again the other day.  We were at a barbecue together.  He was sober.  I put a hand on his shoulder and said that it was great to see him.  He smiled for a second, and then put his head down.  With his eyes on the ground he told me that he’d been struggling.  He’d relapsed actually, after having been sober for a few years.  I nodded and listened.  He said he was back now, working his recovery program again.  I said I was glad to hear that, and offered some small encouragement. I asked how he was doing with his grief and he looked at me again as a few tears welled up.  He shrugged.  

“It’s hard,” he said.  

I said yeah, that’s what I’ve heard from other friends and family who’ve lost a child.  

We visited for another minute or two and he said it was good to see me.  And that maybe he’d see me around again soon. I said that I hoped so.  

And I made a mental note then.  For the next time, and every time, I see someone stumbling down the road.  To choose grace.  To choose faithfulness.  And to choose tolerance.  Every time.