In The Company Of GIANTS…

Maribelle

You know, I didn’t recognize her for a long, long time. 53 and built like a pear, she had straw yellow hair, a splotchy complexion… and a glass eye. Some folks might say, “No wonder you didn’t recognize her!” I prefer the truth these days. And the truth is, I was just blind.

Maribelle was a meek woman. She ‘moused’ her way through work, friendships and worship. To this day I can’t recall ever seeing her one good eye narrow in irritation… ever. Maybe, with all the storms she’d weathered, the light drizzle of day-to-day living just didn’t seem worth the effort of anger (oh Lord, do I need to learn that!). She lived in the public tenements with her only earthly treasure, her son Ricky. Ricky was an absolute prize in her eyes, in spite of being a teenager… and mentally retarded.

Oh, did I mention she had a husband? Yep. I hear he was a good storyteller, and a fine friend when the night got thirsty. I also heard he had a big place just outside of town. All I know for sure is, he’s the reason she had a glass eye… and lived in the tenements. But he was her husband.

You see, Maribelle had this notion that, for all he had done, and all he hadn’t done… since he hadn’t “cheated” on her (Maribelle never did use indelicate words), she had no right to divorce him. The tenements came into play because of an equally strong obligation she felt to “keep the boy safe”.

Maribelle was not the first giant I’d ever met, but she was the one who taught me that giants don’t always ‘look’ like giants… at first, and that they’re seldom found where most people go to look for them. I definitely had no clue there’d be one where I found her.

Dewitt was the first place where I told people about Jesus for my daily bread. And I went at it full steam, wide-eyed… and blind. You see, I thought that little congregation would be as excited about Him and the awesome opportunity to tell the world about Him as I was. For the sake of brevity and kindness, let’s just say, it weren’t so. Except for Maribelle.

I’d been making appeals for homes to host bible studies in for three weeks running when she approached me. The Wednesday night regulars had all headed home, and I was on my way out the door when I sensed her. I say ‘sensed’ her because, that’s how it was with Maribelle. She never did talk much.

She seemed to take a minute to find something in herself, I still don’t know if it was her thoughts… or her courage. Then she said, “Preacher. I been listening to you all these weeks… and you may not want it. I ain’t got much. My house, it ain’t much. But I’d get cookies, if you’d bring the pop. And there’s lots of people in ‘the housing’ that need Jesus.” That’s when I got my first glimpse at the giant.

Hebrews 11:37-38


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“These Are My Friends…”

“Come on in Preacher! Everyone’s excited to hear ya!” Thus began my true learning of the ways of God among men.

Maribelle’s Treasure stepped aside, and with a fairly grand sweep of his arm, bade me in. The room was small and haggard, with a smattering of worn furniture. But it was neat as a pin… and packed! Maribelle stepped through the crowd, and somewhere, deep within my subconscious mind the difference in her registered. But it wasn’t until years later that I recognized it for what it was.

“Preacher,” she says, “These are my friends.” And with an uncommon warmth and grace, she turned to touch each of them with her gaze. I followed her lead and noted each face myself. Some of these folks I knew. Some of them, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. All of them looked to me like they had seen better days… or needed to. But Maribelle was proud of them, and they were proud of Maribelle. And something began to dawn on me that night.

You see, when people feel ‘welcome’ and comfortable, the door to their hearts can’t help but be opened, just a little. Maribelle knew that. Although, at the time, I wasn’t sure where she’d learned it. I had never seen anyone be more than vaguely cordial to her, and I had never seen anyone be as gracious and true to friends as she was that night.

I don’t remember what I talked about. I don’t even remember what time of year it was. But it’s etched in my bones how that night ‘felt’. The entire evening was warm, friendly, comfortable and inviting. With sugar wafers and macaroons from Aldi’s and store brand pop in Styrofoam cups, we had ourselves a regular feast.

And I don’t recall any deep theological discussions afterwards, but I wasn’t disappointed. Such fodder would have only diminished the moment. I do remember Maribelle engaging each of her friends in what she called “care talk”. Care talk, of course, was when the conversation was about the friend… their joys, their hopes and dreams and fears… and not about Maribelle.

Hmmm. It sure was a sight. I was the ‘polished’ preacher… but she was the living vessel. I went to fill their heads with the knowledge of God. She bathed them with His concern and acceptance with joy.

“Thanks for coming, and for such a fine lesson” she said, as I was leaving. I didn’t tell her, but I wouldn’t have missed that ‘tenement’ experience… for anything on earth! I still wasn’t aware of her true stature though, that came later.

John 13:35


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The Beauty… And The Giant

Tuesday nights were my favorite time of the week for the next three years. I ate 5 times my body weight in sugar wafers… chewed the rim off of at least 600 Styrofoam cups… talked a lot about God, and learned a great deal more. Not a bad way to spend an evening, huh?

I could fill at least two more big books with what I learned while in that ‘tenement’ and in the company of that woman. But it’s what went on in that little, worn-out place every other night that still brings me to my knees… and clouds my eyes with love and amazement.

I was speaking some years later in a nearby city, and stopped in Dewitt to reminisce. By God’s grace I found all my old friends, everyone from Maribelle’s flock. Everyone, that is, except Maribelle. To this day, I still have no idea where she is. It’s as if she just ‘moused’ her way right on out of this world. But I learned that she left some big tracks!

I had stopped by her apartment in ‘the housing’, hoping against hope that I’d find her there. And I must have looked fairly lost, because over my shoulder two voices called out, “What’cha looking for?” I thought for a moment that I just might be in trouble… that is, until I said, “I’m trying to find Maribelle.”

At least four doors opened along the commons, and men, women and kids started towards me. Thank God, they were smiling! I don’t remember their names. I only vaguely recall their faces. But their words were a refiner’s fire… and a cool breeze… and the toppin’ of a short hill in a fast car ~ all at the same time.

One right after another, and sometimes, two at a time told me about “Momma” Maribelle. You see, I knew about the wonder of Tuesday nights, but had no idea about:

¨ Monday night cooking classes for the unwed, live-in and newly-wed teens that called those ‘tenements’ home.

¨ Thursday night sessions with new mothers, to teach them how to change, bathe, hold and love their “Treasures”, as they now called them.

¨ Daily and regular exhortations to the young women sharing abodes with men on how to love, honor and encourage those men. And above all, to love God with everything they had… and hoped for.

You know, I didn’t recognize her for a long, long time. 53 and built like a pear, she had straw yellow hair, a splotchy complexion… and a glass eye. Some folks might say, “No wonder you didn’t recognize her!” I prefer the truth these days. And the truth is, I was just plain blind.

Hebrews 12:1