(if you are viewing this via email, the website has a recording of this poem and commentary; click the title above)
When the young black man carried his basketball all the way up to the front pew of our lily-white church, something had to be done. Nobody else was doing anything, so I took action. I got out of my pew, walked up there, introduced myself, and sat down beside him. He needed a welcoming, calming influence. So did the congregation, sitting behind us!
After the service, my savvy friend Gene commented on what was happening: “You were serving as a stable pony.” Gene explained: “Racehorse trainers keep a pony in the stable to calm down the high-strung racehorse.” That made sense except for the fact that I myself am high-strung. It would seem that God picked the wrong pony for this stable!
I was reminded of that incident yesterday when a couple dropped by the library just to thank me. Asante* and Sarah (not their real names) are as different from me as you can imagine—in lifestyle, skin color, size, number of tattoos, and amount of gold in the grill! “We wanted to come by to tell you that I finished the program, and to thank you,” said Asante. “Fantastic!” I answered, shaking his giant hand. A little more chitchat, a fistbump, and they were gone.
Back in the workroom I reflected on my handful of encounters with Asante and Sarah. He was going through a court-ordered anger management and sobriety course. For some reason, he liked having me sit with him as he wrote down answers in his workbook. I seriously have no idea why! Nevertheless, every time he came in, he and Sarah would ask if I was available. If I wasn’t, they’d leave and try again on another day.
Being high-strung is the bane of my existence. Often, people can sense it and are turned off by it. A few people—truly evil sorts—use my personality against me. They delight in pushing buttons.
But here’s the point…. Being high-strung is also a boon. My underlying sense of duty drives me to do things that don’t come naturally. It drives me to leave my comfortable pew and to sit down elsewhere for unlikely fellowship. Sometimes, it turns me into a stable pony.
Sometimes it even earns me a fistbump from Asante.
— August 31, 2024
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*Asante, from Ghana, means “Thank you.” I wonder… are there angels with that name?
(background image by “Vika_Glitter” on Pixabay)
