Ben Ruben

"Turn off right here..." Said Aaron, leaning over from the passenger seat. We took the next exit and entered the town of Raton. "Gas station left" read the sign, it was about six o'clock in the evening and the temperature was quickly dropping. The stars twinkled dimly above and I caught a glimpse of the big dipper as we passed under the interstate. To our right a different kind of twinkling lights lined the rooftops of a well kept quaint little downtown. "Wow, we took the perfect exit." I said. Aaron laughed, part in good humor, as usually he is in, and in part because I'm always making ridiculous statements of that sort.
The light of the street lamps appeared cold and static silhouetted by the gentle snow flurries silently about them.

When we pulled up to the Gas station I noticed a lanky figure seated on the curb looking piercingly through the night. I couldn't tell if he was looking at us, or nothing at all. The only movement in or around him was the thick puffs of carbon dioxide lifting into the air out of his nose. Frost like lacing hung from the bottom of his beard which blew gently in the chill wind. Apart from breathing his posture composed a symphony of silence which hung suspended in the air with my thoughts: what to do, what to say? I searched my heart, I searched my head for the words of Jesus. Often God speaks through me in these situations, usually something like: "What can I do for you brother?" In fact that's what I planned on saying to the guy, but as I got out of the car I looked over to see Aaron was already approaching the man. I smiled as I herd the words coming form my brother's caring lips.

"What can I do for you brother?" Aaron asked. It was very much-still really, really cold outside, but my love for Aaron seemed a momentary relief from the weather. I am blessed to have such a brother. Amen and hallelujah.

"Its cold." Said the lanky old man, or some similar response. He came into the gas station with us and I proceeded to grab a cup for some hot chocolate. The room was tense. The clerks went quickly to postures of anxiety.
"Whats your name?" Aaron asked, and I kept an eye on the unfolding conflict around us.
"Ben Ruben." said the old man. Most of his teeth were missing and his skin was dry and wrinkled.
Then we walked towards the counter where the clerk was peering suspiciously around his current customer, eyeing the hot chocolate in my hand and frowning at Ben who was standing next to me.

"We can't serve him!" Said the clerk. "He's been asked to leave already." THe customer in front of me turned his head to peer at me from the corner of his eye. The guy felt caught between ensuing battle lines.
"He wants that guy to leave." The customer said to me.
"I understand." I said. To my left the other clerk, a young man of teenage manner, was nervously swaying back and forth. Turning my face back to the customer in front of me I said: "The man here was made in the image of our lord and he deserves respect, he deserves love." After these words left my mouth I saw that the young teenage boy behind the counter shifted his posture taking great surprise and awe from the statement he had just herd. He seemed a fair bit scared as well. Now it was my turn to check out.

"We can't serve him Sir." Said the check out dude. I peered at him with a mix of compassion and fierce determination.

"This is my stuff, he can have some if he wants it. Give me a pack of cigarets and this hot chocolate, and I'll be glad to go outside." The clerk sighed and fulfilled my request. As we ventured again into the freezing cold Aaron suggested moving around the corner, away from the door. Aaron is good at not starting more trouble than is needed, thats good for me. So we scuffled around in the snow and Ben began thank us for our kindness. A minute passed and we turned to see the young teenage boy patting up after us. Ben was in the middle of a story about God speaking to him and giving him the technological keys to saving the world, something about Nicolai Tesla, electric bicycles and the cleansing the body of sin. As Ben went on talking the young man joined us and waited politely for a break in the conversation.

"I have to ask you guys to leave the property." He said. "Either just across the street or into the next parking lot."

At that moment I knew that Ben would say something, I could feel a shared sense of dread between me and Aaron hoping it wouldn't be reactionary or hateful in anyway, as was his very right. To our surprise this is what came from Ben Ruben's mouth:
looking down at the kid's name tag he said:

"Chris, I love you, I love you, I love you....and I forgive you....I forgive you for being loyal to an unworthy cause, and I pray that the lord bless you and everything that you love." With that we left the stupified young man standing in the gently falling snow and headed for a curbside seat in front of McDonalds. Sitting there in the bask of a neon light we talked more of Jesus and the hope a glory that we await in our fallen world. We gave Ben our email address, so that he could contact us concerning his inventions and how we might help to liberate the world from the government and oil industries. I hope to see that man again. That night I lay in my bed thinking of Ben, wishing we lived in the same city, that I might help him to pursue his vision from the lord, though crazy as it sounded.

Stevenson Neighborhood Christmas Party

Click on the picture below to see pictures from the 2010 Stevenson Neighborhood Christmas Party. Thanks to all who helped and donated!

Stevenson Christmas 2010

Salvation Story of a Scrooge, or Stevenson Neighborhood Christmas Party

Thanksgiving doesn't have any famous songs of its own (that I'm aware of).  Halloween doesn't either.  Perhaps that's the reason in mid-October I thought I heard a murmured verse of O Come All Ye Faithful.  By early November, I suspected the others of whispered gatherings where they sang hushed versions of yuletide carols.  But when I returned from an all-too-quick trip to Houston after some turkey and dressing, the subtlety of Christmas was as covert as the reality of a corpulent cookie-monster adorned in matching crimson velvet hat, coat, and trousers huffing and hustling his way through the soot and ash of our make-believe chimney.  In other words, it was uproarious and bracing.  Santa didn't bother with the chimney this year.  At our house, he came crashing through the door hollerin' about toys all around.

Plans began this year a touch earlier than last year.  And as word spread like Christmas cheer, some of us (read "I") remained skeptical.  Talk of forms to be filled out and returned, dreams of sleigh rides and fake snow, and anticipation of hundreds of people attending only solidified my cynicism.  After all, what would we be conveying to our neighbors if we perpetuated the materialism and consumerism into which Christmas has been perverted?  Without a solution, I leaned back in my chair aloof and nonchalant as James Dean while  growing number of organized neighborhood volunteers carried on their elfish way.

Throughout the week leading up to that unanimously anticipated Saturday, new and different faces popped up around the house.  Search-and-purch(ase) posses were assembled.  Gift-wrapping gatherings flooded the house with red and green garnish while bellowing snow-covered songs, all tainted with selfless laughter and excitement.  All the while, I huddled back in the farthest corner of the house muttering bah-humbug, and hiding from whatever wrong might be exploited in these ill-advised offerings.

As Saturday threatened, I only assisted out of obligation.  And in due consequence found myself completing the task I least enjoyed: monotonous, superfluous tree decorating.  It was cold.  Especially in the shade.  Where I stood.  Waiting for the doors to be opened by our contact at the school.  She was late.  And it was cold.  Anticipating the worst in our neighbors, as I waited in the cold, I began to plan what I would say to a variety of plausible comments and situations; no doubt, some participants would be dissatisfied with what free gifts they would receive.  Yet my strategic planning session was interrupted (not yet thwarted) by the arrival of our friend Joann, the keymaster.

As a liaison between the school and christmas program I felt a heavy responsibility for the facilities to be cared for as requested.  Now, as we entered the gym my frustration swelled as the youngest children wasted no time marking the pristine floor with shoe streaks (we were specifically asked to keep the floor clean).  But then, without my consent, the teamwork and unity of neighbors needled its way into my shrunken, weary heart.  Sue directed both children and neighbors in all decorating matters.  An assembled stage meandered into the gym, I'm not sure from where.  I turned around when there arose such a clatter, craft tables had sprung up and stocked, a sound system suddenly echoed, and a plethora of men leading younger men and boys in covering the floor with protective butcher paper.  The Grinch's heart had begun growing three sizes too big.  But the battle hadn't yet finished.

Setting up the sign-in tables, I finally realized just how many people had come to participate.  Neighbors and participants wandered in.  Let me take this time to wander back a bit myself.  When we pieced together the final master list of families and children days in advance, I noticed we seemed to be collecting papers from not only people from our neighborhood, but also folks of low income families in and around all of Abilene.  An imaginary map filled with pushpins unfolded before my eyes depicting the locations of each address.  Both frustration and revelation ravaged my brain.  How could all these people include themselves in a "Stevenson neighborhood" Christmas party?  As Aaron and I processed that night of revelation, I began accepting a piece of knowledge that our neighborhood is not a place but instead a group of people (perhaps like the church); an education I still am processing.  Turns out I didn't sign up for just loving people within my proximity of 3 or 4 blocks, but rather a culture of people who are in some way or another related to, befriended by, or previously resided alongside those currently on those 3 or 4 blocks.  But at the reality of the welcome tables, I didn't have time to pilfer through those theological contemplations while instructing 3 or 4 year olds on necessities name tags.

To a fault, my tiny heart never has been able to turn away the least of these, specifically a child.  Those faces, radiant and frightened, erased all assumed importance of "sticking it to the man" and fighting consumerism (most of them can't even pronounce consumerism).  The steady influx eventually paused allowing me the opportunity glance momentarily at the controlled chaos circling the gym.  Little bouncing faces painted by older trusted youth.  Tree ornaments designed and decorated by tiny hands and fingers.  The youngest having their first chance to sit on the lap of an indeed jolly older St... uh... Loranzo.  Papa Flach gathered the children to tell a tale of a sleeping baby in a horse trough who would save the world.  I could no longer contend.  I became swept away in the vision of all the sugar-plums dancing around the gym floor.  Even some of the teachers from the school we were borrowing showed up for support.

A final pessimistic twinge stung with approximately twenty minutes left in the program schedule.  Of the 160 children we had on record for receiving gifts, we didn't need to check the list twice to know we weren't entertaining but half of that.  We know our friends and neighbors don't value punctuality as highly as some of the rest of us do, and we planned accordingly.  But when we looked into the crowd of merry, carefree children we knew we wouldn't "reach" or "connect" with all those we wished we could.  A blizzard of negativity blew in.  "What did we do wrong?  How many bridges did we burn asking for help and not being good stewards of that assistance?  Could we have done this better?  What will people say if gifts are left over?  What will we do with all the leftovers?  Why didn't we account for leftovers or unclaimed gifts?  I was right; we never should have done this."  I made my most valiant effort to push God aside.  Luckily, he's more stubborn than a sleeping elf the day after Christmas (thanks Wes).

I expected the present-claiming line to contort into a snorting crowd of reindeer, ready to tug those gifts to living rooms across the neighborhood.  Shamefully I confess this because my plans were foiled en total.  I handed over sack after sack of gift-wrapped barbies, mp3 players, hotwheels, hoodies and countless other items.  Just like Ebenezer.  While the others partook in unglorified restoration of the gym, cleaning floors and stripping decorations from the walls, collapsing tables and coiling cords, I was allowed to listen to the abundance of praise and thanks showered from grateful neighbors.  I placed packs in the hands of those who daily wash the feet of Jesus.  And at the end of the night, all the gifts were delivered to just the right homes.

And where, turns out, its heartwarming to serve others during the Christmas season, I think I'd like to make a habit of it.  As a neighbor.

We met many new neighbors this winter.  Some we got to know because they joined us in preparation efforts.  Some we met as we knocked on doors passing out information.  And still others as they followed young ones from table to table in an all-but-forgotten gym just down the hill.  There are innumerable stories from at least as many perspectives.  Stories of faithfulness, hope, joy, community, redemption and love.  But the best stories are the ones to come... stories from Joann, Nancy, Josie, Dwayne, Boss Hawg, and many more as we continue to get to know our neighbors this year.