Warm

God is good.

Without going into reasons, my brother has my car. So with a deadline approaching, I had to ride my motorcycle from Redlands to Banning in the cold and rain to deliver a subpoena.

I had expected rain when I left the house this morning, but not much. So I wore a rain jacket, but not rain pants.

On my motorcycle driving out to Banning, my wet legs froze. My hands froze, too, because the rain made my leather gloves wet.

By the time I got to my destination, I was very, very cold. Cold enough to be strangely chatty with the stranger that I handed the subpoena to. But from this chat, I found out that there was a restaurant only two blocks away. It served Chinese food.

I walked into the restaurant and ordered hot Chinese tea. It was wonderful. I pealed off my scarf and jacket, and I ordered dinner. I hoped to wait out the rain.

The chow mein was good. The vegetables and meat in it were delicious. But I did wonder why I was paying over nine dollars for chow mein made from ramen noodles. Yet, on balance, that was a small thing.

A woman came into the restaurant and asked for tea, and she asked about various cheap menu items. I suspect that she was homeless; certainly she was poor. That’s never easy, but it’s brutal on a day like this.

Meal done, I climbed back on my motorcycle, full of food and full of tea. The rain pelted me for half the chilling 50-minute ride back to Grand Terrace. But from the beginning of the journey there was hope for early relief, because in the distance I saw a horizontal line of bright sky toward the coast; I had hope of riding into rainless weather. After about 25 minutes, the rain stopped soaking me, and I was warmer.

But not warm.

My legs were so cold that it was troublesome to work the gear-shift with my left foot and the brake with my right foot. My fingers were so cold that the clutch and hand-brake were not easy.

But, finally, I was home. And home meant a hot bath – a simple joy.

I remember scanning a newspaper article about parents in Afghanistan who had lost nine children. The last one was born and died in one winter. The parents grieved that in his entire life their little baby boy was never warm.

I remember tales of war – tales of soldiers bearing cold for weeks and months, both in Europe and, later, in Korea. That would be my experience times one-hundred, with the loneliness of being far from home, and the added risk of being shot or captured.

So my modest ordeal made me grateful for what I had. In fact, as I approached home, in gratitude, I thought of my neighbor, whom I dislike. (I suspect, rightly or wrongly, that he poisoned my trees to improve his view; and, by golly, somebody keeps reporting property infractions to city officials.) Approaching my safe-harbor, I wondered what kindness I might show him to end this feud.

This thought was grace to me more than to him, because all kindness comes from God.

Now I’m bathed, dry, warm, and setting into my evening’s pleasurable routines. I am blessed beyond my deserving.