The church I served in Wichita Falls was an easy target. Situated in a downtown area right on Hwy 287 and only a few blocks from the railroad tracks; it drew all kinds of people just passing through town. They had all kinds of needs. There were people traveling across country stopping in for gas money. Families living in those same cars often sought much needed groceries and baby formula. Drifters using the rail system to make it to the next town occasionally stopped in seeking assistance. Most of these individuals were pretty cordial. Some were truthful about their circumstances and many were not.

One hot morning a gaunt and unkempt man came in the church office and explained his situation to our secretary. The social worker at the hospital supposedly had sent him our way. We of course had heard that story before. He was seeking a bus ticket to Denton, so he could enter a specialized treatment center of some kind. We had heard that story before as well.

Quite frankly I was tired of hearing the lies. I was not in the mood to be conned that morning. The church treating one family to a dozen shrimp dinners a few years earlier was fresh on my mind. Cynicism protruded the depths of my heart the morning that the man showed up at the church office.

I asked for the social worker’s name and phone number. He promptly produced both. I left him sitting in the church library among hundreds of volumes of books expounding on all sorts of biblical themes. I slipped back to the office and made a few quick phone calls. The social worker at the hospital was glad to hear from me. She sent him to the Church of Christ on the corner of Tenth and Broad streets, because she was confident that we would help him. She was appreciative of our willingness to assist a man who was facing the advanced stages of AIDS. I was feeling pretty humble, as I hung up the phone that morning.

I slowly made my way back to the church library. He was sitting at the huge hardwood table waiting patiently for my return. He appeared even gaunter, as entered the library. I promptly told him that the church would purchase his bus fare to Denton. The bus station was only two blocks away from the church, but I insisted that he allow me to take him over there in my truck. We stopped at Whataburger down the street to get him some lunch. I left him at the station waiting for the next bus heading for Denton. And as I made my way back to the church, shrimp dinners were the last thing on my mind. For a few moments the inclination to be cynical vanished.

Occasionally I still get flashes of that man standing in the library that day, and the words of the social worker run through my head…Thank you for helping a man who is facing the advanced stages of AIDS….Some memories will never fade. Maybe that is a good thing…