I met God on the weekend. He had a kind face, a smile and a great outlook on life and his future, in the face of personal tragedy. Artur was his name. He came my way through Caritas. His mother had sent us an email, reaching out for help in her desperation. Her son, a young Ukrainian, had come to Thailand. A year ago, in Phuket, where he was living, he met near death after a taxi wiped him out on his motor bike, at a roundabout. Seemingly, his life was at an end.
On hearing of her son's accident, his mother raced from Germany, where she was living as a refugee from war. There pursued much medical care and, a year later, Artur has been left paralysed from the chest down. So I can only imagine his rising plight - uncertainties aurrounding income and support, surviving in a foreign country from which he presently has no escape, his daily suffering, the list goes on.
After being with Artur for 30 minutes, I realised that I had just met God. Despite having faced death and all that has arisen since his fateful accident, or because of it, he now sat before me, smiling, strong and hopeful. What a hero! He talked about starting a new job online. He spoke realisitically and with hope about what can be for him and where he can go in life. Much promise! Much life to be lived! He has not become a victim of his plight. Rather, he has risen above it. He is a sign of hope in our world, hope unfailing. Hope does not disappoint. I truly did meet God.
Do we miss out on the many opportunities that come our way to meet God? Do we too easily deny ourselves this privilehge, wiping it away, thinking it is only for others much greater, holier or more special? If we do, we miss out on so much in life which can too easily become routine and hopeless, and fall away before we know it. .
In case you may think I am losing the plot or becoming overcome with pride, I would like to share someone else's story. It is a story from Russia on the
coming of Jesus.
At the beginning of Advent, Pyotr
said to his children, “On Christmas Eve, Jesus will
visit us.”
They asked, “What does he look like?”
And the reply came, “I do not know. But you might be blind and not recognize
him. So pray without ceasing: Jesus, Son of David; Jesus, Son of
God, have mercy on me. Don’t let me be
blind.”
On Christmas Eve, someone knocked
at the door. Pyotr ran and opened
it. A nasty smell poured into the
room. There was a beggar in rags and
full of sores. Pyotr welcomed him with
reverence, washed him and bound up his wounds and sores, and gave him a new suit
of clothes. He set him down at the table
and served him supper.
Then his children came and asked, “Papa, when is Jesus coming?”
Papa started crying, “Children, are you still
blind? Didn’t you pray rightly?”
May I, a sinner, be ever humble enough to meet God.
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