A warm day in the park. Two elderly ladies,

White-haired, masked, with looks of intention,

Approached. Could they speak with me?

Presuming, I asked if they were Christians. 

They were. They wanted to share with me 

Their stories. I agreed. I was curious,

More than that, I was genuinely interested,

For they were kindly and earnest.

Actually, it was a hot day in the park, 

Unseasonably so for mid-October.

Each told their story of a difficult life,

Of abuse, of neglect, of drugs, of men

Who did them harm, and the moment

When they were Saved. I was touched,

They were sincere and I am not a rock.

It was, in point of fact, a very hot day.

By end the of the second story, and as 

They began to proselytize, I had sweated

Through my shirt and they were eyeing

A nearby bench. It went on too long.

They failed, at first, to sense the futility.

I grew a little impatient. I broached

The possibility that there might be

More than one way, more than one path.

There was more dialog, more conversation.

More attack in their voices, though 

The one on the left came to see that it was,

I was, a lost cause, and removed herself 

To the bench nearby and lost interest.

The other felt the point had not been 

Clearly presented, that what she had to offer 

Was so valuable, so worthwhile to me,

That she circled back to the beginning.

My impatience surfaced, mild, but apparent. 

It was time go, I said, and meant it. 

She was reluctant for me to leave 

With so little gained. In the end I was offered 

A pocket Bible, which I declined. I have Bibles.

She asked me to take it, and give to a friend.

My friends have Bibles, cherished Bibles.

It was very hot. The masks were suffocating.

Words lost meaning. I had heard it before.

I thanked them for sharing their stories,

Which were real and tragic, but my gratitude 

Was not what they wanted. I had given them nothing. 

I had expressed thoughts which ran counter 

To their own. I had challenged. I had been blind.

Before the final goodbye they asked

If they could pray for me. Of course, I said. 

I joined them at Amen. I meant it on two levels.

Now, I am sorry for my impatience, for my Logic.

It would have cost me nothing to have accepted

Their offering, to have been more gracious

In my rhetoric. I had engaged in debate

When all that was needed were kind words. 

But . . . it was hot . . . and it was imperfect. 

They left weary, and frustrated, and unfulfilled,

And I am left unsettled, regretting my behavior, 

For their intentions, I think, were good.