It had been a day stuffed with meetings in airless rooms. Hot, tired, and exhausted, I set my heart on a quiet evening at home. I stuffed the remainders of the day into my backpack, slogged to the main road, and hailed a taxi.
An eager motorcycle driver swerved to a stop. I inhaled three days of his hard work in clothes worn as long. I climbed onto the seat behind him. “In fifteen minutes I can wash away the day,” I thought.
The driver jockeyed other motos and swerved around packed lories as we threaded through diesel smoke and road dust—a typical Beni commute. We bumped over unpaved road for the last kilometer and pulled to a stop at the front gate of my house.
I paid the driver and tossed a brief greeting at our guard Jonas who held open the gate. Crop-dusted in road dirt and exhaust, I yearned for the sweet relief of a bucket shower and rushed past gentle Mama Edwidge with a insincere “Habarii kazi leo (How was the work today)?”
I lunged into the house, plopped a pot of water on the propane stove to heat, then headed to my bedroom to unpack and undress.
A gentle tap on the bedroom door tugged me from my self-absorbed frenzy.
“Habari (welcome)?” I queried.
Mama Edwidge stepped into the room. In customary manner, she extended her right hand with her left resting on her extended forearm. She held a tattered Congolese 500 franc note. This weary bit of paper, the rough equivalent of 50 cents American, bore the scars of a hard and short life. It had been wadded, folded, creased, and torn as it had paid for taxi rides, pineapples, and phone units in its brief existence.
In Swahili Mama Edwidge explained that she had found the bill in my jeans while washing clothes. She discovered the money while hand-scrubbing the seat and pockets of the jeans. Holding the note as if it were a peace offering, she apologized for getting it wet.
My ego buckled under the weight of grace.
Congo is a culture of relationships. The workday begins with intention and heartfelt greetings. “How are you? How was the night? How is the family?” Business transactions freeze or flow on face-to-face exchanges. One drops tasks, offers tea and unfettered time to planned and unexpected guest alike. I know this well. I forget this often.
This day, intent on my own needs, I didn’t forget. I neglected.
Mama Edwidge and Jonas are two of the many people who made my life manageable in a place where I was an immigrant. Mama Edwidge walked over a mile one-way between her house and mine to keep my house and clothes clean. Jonas and his colleague Kasikas alternated 24-hour shifts to secure my safety while leaving their own families vulnerable.
Mama Edwidge, Jonas, and the taxi driver had returned my selfishness with kindness. I had treated them like a crumpled, forgotten franc note.
Today, as I recall that lesson, I wonder how often I treat people in my daily life here, now, with similar disregard.
How often do I treat God with disregard?
It’s easy to get caught up in our own little kingdoms (listen to Episode #65, “Take Off Your Crown,” of The Next Right Thing for more on that topic). When we do, we fail to see the gifts of grace and mercy God lays out before us.
St. Paul and King David knew what they were talking about. Paul advises, “In all things give thanks” (I Thes. 5:18). David proclaims, “I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth” (Ps. 34:1).
When we hold a posture of gratitude, we recognize the small graces in the day. When we hold a posture of gratitude, we recognize God’s grace in the form of the people around us.
I have to remind myself of this daily, sometimes hourly.
Today I pray, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner. God, bless those whom I neglect to bless.” Today I will repeat, “In all things give thanks.”