Stan
If X-Ray was my rock, my right hand man and my shoulder to cry on, then Stan was my quick-sand, my second left foot, and my personal storm cloud. How can one guy always manage to say the perfectly wrong thing at every wrong time? I don't know, but I do know that something positive was usually formed when these apparent double negatives canceled each other out. Stan managed the sub shop near my office, and since I was having my regular lunch there before, I continued, and have never missed one Wednesday (even if it had to be by takeout for a while).
I remember the time Stan asked me if I still thought God loved me. I remember especially because Wade was with me and, coming "to God's defense," he reached in to pull Stan over the spit shield! Then I had to manage Wade's big temper, my own shock, AND Stan's big mouth!
I shouldn't really say that, because he didn't ask the question with a sneer or with any malice. He had rightly guessed that I had asked myself (or, had asked my worldview) that question, and that I would have had an answer by then. When I began the short answer, Stan actually locked the door to his sub shop at 12:20 during a Wednesday lunch hour and sat down with me and Wade to hear the long answer. For the next 27 minutes (I know because I read about it in the paper) the door was repeatedly tried and only rattled, hungry wannabe customers glared in at the three of us sitting, of course, right by the window, Wade ate two 12 inch subs (and later complained that I ordered too many banana peppers on mine!) while still hoping I would let him clobber Stan, and I sat and talked about my favorite subject: God's perfect love.
Stan never took his eyes off of mine, and never said a word until I was done. Then he said "Right", unlocked the door and began rebuking his most faithful customers for complaining. "You just had lunch yesterday!" he yelled.
Stan wavers between faithful and foolish, trusting and testing. He knows there's something there, but will he believe? What do you think?
I shouldn't really say that, because he didn't ask the question with a sneer or with any malice. He had rightly guessed that I had asked myself (or, had asked my worldview) that question, and that I would have had an answer by then. When I began the short answer, Stan actually locked the door to his sub shop at 12:20 during a Wednesday lunch hour and sat down with me and Wade to hear the long answer. For the next 27 minutes (I know because I read about it in the paper) the door was repeatedly tried and only rattled, hungry wannabe customers glared in at the three of us sitting, of course, right by the window, Wade ate two 12 inch subs (and later complained that I ordered too many banana peppers on mine!) while still hoping I would let him clobber Stan, and I sat and talked about my favorite subject: God's perfect love.
Stan never took his eyes off of mine, and never said a word until I was done. Then he said "Right", unlocked the door and began rebuking his most faithful customers for complaining. "You just had lunch yesterday!" he yelled.
Stan wavers between faithful and foolish, trusting and testing. He knows there's something there, but will he believe? What do you think?
My son, is stuggling with his faith, as I did in my 20's. Some have to go through such things to find comfort in faith.
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