Speaking in Code

So, I was sitting at the coffee shop, when I was engaged in a random conversation with a guy at the end of the bar.

He was about 50, a little disheveled but not quite out of place. He seemed nice enough. And he obviously liked talking to people.

Not that I spend a lot of time at the coffee shop, but I didn't recognize him. He later tells me that this was his first time in the coffee shop and he really enjoyed it. After that moment, we shoot the breeze about whether I was a student, where I attended school and where I worked now.

Ah, the holy trinity of conversation topics when people don't know how to approach me and they see that I am not wearing a wedding ring.

Again, he seemed nice enough. But I found myself a bit uncomfortable. He kept staring at me, especially when I was cracking jokes with my friends at the coffee shop and tipped my head back in laughter. I kept wondering why he was staring at me. It wasn't the typical ogling from prior encounters I had with men his age. It was like he was trying to figure me out.

Our stilted conversation drifted to my job. Unlike some people, he actually knew where World Vision was located. And even more so, he knew what we did.

Random Man: You guys do good work.
Me: We try. Its hard work.
Random Man: You're a humanitarian--did I say that right?
Me: Yes. We're a Christian humanitarian oranization.
Random Man: I like your work. [He touches his heart] And you are one of them, aren't you?

Them? I raise an eyebrow.

Random Man: I am, too.

Oh. He meant Christian.

What do you say to that? My offering was a shy smile and a paltry "I'm glad."

And then came the staring and his attempt to figure me out. At one point, one of my coffee shop friends came by and the conversation turned to the economy.

Random Man: I don't worry about it. Everything will turn out all right.
Me: Yes, it will.
Random Man: That's me. 24/7. I've been through three changes in the economy. But people like you and me don't need to worry.
Me: [Offering a small smile] I suppose you're right.

He laughs, as if I was confirming his suspicions about me. I try to shrug it off. But my own calculations were confirmed when he came to my corner before he left the store. He shook my hand, and whispered low:

Random Man: You're saved, aren't you?

It was a statement, not a question.

Suddenly all of his comments made sense. He was trying to figure out if I was saved. But he wasn't finished with his detective work.

Random Man: I knew it. I knew you were when you were talking. I knew you were a little uncomfortable, but it isn't about being saved.

Not really. I just have a hard time with strangers who stare at me. I never know what to say. And since I have lived a lifetime of being uncomfortable, this wasn't entirely new. But what he didn't know was that the past two weeks I had been dealing with my comfort level and how I interact with people--friends, family...and random strangers in my coffee shop.

Random Man: I think you're a very happy person. But you don't laugh very much, do you?

What I wanted to say was "I love to laugh." But what I said was the unfiltered truth.

Me: No. At least, not as of late. But it's getting better.
Random Man: You should. You have a great laugh. And I kept thinking that you need to laugh more. All I wanted to do was keep your smile on your face.

Hello, High Walls of Discomfort.

What do you say when the person you had just met sees so much about you? I was touched by his sensitive observations but I was also angry that just because he broke the code to our somewhat "secret" society, (which is a blog in of itself!) it doesn't mean he can tell me what he thinks needs to be fixed about me.

To be quite honest, I wasn't that angry. Uncomfortable, yes, but not angry. I don't know if the discomfort will go away when I meet up with people who stare at me. But Random Man was nice enough and I believe he did not mean me harm. The verdict is still out on how I feel about our conversation. I'm sure I won't see him again, at least not on this side of heaven. Apparently, that's what it means to be part of the same club. But I'm sure I'll be glad to see him again.

Its a wonder to me that these conversations with strangers are becoming more frequent. God is using people who don't know anything about me to reveal things that people don't often say to me. And I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that.