Out of the Ashes Comes Hope

(I have just come into the house from a quick trip to the library when there is a light knock on my front door.)

Me, opening the inside door and taking a step backward: Hi.

Him, holding the screen door and leaning forward a bit: Do you own a green Toyota pickup?

Me (feeling of dread – my daughter has the pickup in the city...what has happened?): Yes.

Him (rushing to get the words out): The stereo was stolen out of it? A long time ago?

Me (tumble of thoughts...confusion...): Yes. (My eyebrows furrow, taking in this sketchy character. Is he 25, 30? What does he want? Clean, but sounds uneducated. Like some of my past students? Be careful, I think. How does he know about the pickup?)

Him: I did it. I stole it. The stereo.

Silence. We look each other in the eye. He seems relieved to have said it, yet afraid of my reaction. Do I have a reaction? What? My thoughts tumble backward ten years to picture the pickup parked out front, our reaction to see it broken into, and the frustration that someone thought we could afford the loss...or didn’t care...

Me: You did it?

Him: Yes. (Heartbeat.) I did my time, but I wanted to tell you it was me.

Again we both pause. I am formulating what I want to say next, (Why is he familiar?), but I am too stunned that this is happening to formulate much.

However, he is here for a purpose and is driven to continue: How much did it cost? (Reaching for his wallet) I have $15.

Me (putting my hand up like a stop sign): No. It’s alright. (Am I just being nice, or do I really mean it?)

Him: No. I want you to take it.

Me: No. I’m just glad you told me the truth. (Realizing how much it must have taken for him to do this I want to add something encouraging. The words, stumbling but sincere were something like): I hope good things happen for you now as you work toward your future.

Thrusting three crisp $5 bills toward me he quickly adds: I’ll pay you more when I can.

Finally, something in me breaks through my shock so that I can say more firmly: I don’t want any more money. It means more to me that you came and told me the truth.

After he makes sure I take the bills, he backs up a little. Perhaps it is his turn to be a little stunned. Neither of us is sure what comes next.

Me, moving closer to the doorway: Thank you for telling me. I really appreciate your being honest.

He seems satisfied and, letting go of the screen door, turns to go. Before he is down the porch steps I lean around the screen door and ask his name. Stopping, he turns around and tells it to me without hesitation. Things click into place in my mind.

He wants to know something else as well: Did the pickup belong to your son?

Me, inwardly analyzing his question but answering honestly: No. It was the family car, but he drove it to work after school.

I watched him turn and go, unable to take my eyes off of him. His fresh start began with taking care of some old business. Setting things right. Forgiveness and grace. Amen. I will never forget.