Bigfoot (To Increase Search Engine Hits!)

Marietta had called me in for a chat. It could have been for any number of reasons. It could have been the time a friend and I had repeatedly lit the “special” candles, and blew them out, until the Dutch fire department showed up in response to the fire alarm we’d unintentionally set off. It could just as easily have been the time we had abused our privileges to the intercom system, whispering “question authority” through the speakers, as the European missions board met on site, over some very important issues. We were barely able to contain our laughter as we pushed the button; and in a breathy whisper, slowly issued our warning, grinding each syllable in our teeth QU-E-S-T-IO-N-AU-THOR-I-TY. We’d giggle, regain our composure, and start again. Until the leader of the European missions board came bursting into the lobby, rattling the glass as the doors slammed into the walls on either side. He was not laughing. I was SO afraid THAT night.
It easily could have been one of those times, or a long list of others; but it wasn’t. It was the time I had decided to break into the A/V room with this same friend and the aid of two missionary kids. Having grown tired of watching Princess Bride at every community movie night, we had determined to watch some of our own movie selections. We watched a western and maybe a horror movie? Yeah, we definitely watched a horror movie; the one I had picked out. Somehow word had gotten back to the base director, about what I had done, and what I had brought into this place. I was truly remorseful and embarrassed for my behavior. What I had done was disrespectful to everyone in the community. I apologized.
Later that morning, my school leader, Marietta, told me that we would be meeting to discuss this matter. I was filled with dread and embarrassment as I waited for her arrival. When she arrived; however, she did not say what I expected; instead she began with an observation “T.J. every time I see you make great strides toward God, you kick back; you refuse to go on, to take the next step. Why is that?” I thought back on my time at this school, and the time before that, and it was true. We talked about this at length. I discovered that what I feared was disappointment. I’ve always felt disappointed, believing that every gift from God would lead to sorrow. Seeing Him as “The Wishmaster” (not the movie we watched that night, by the way). As the story goes, whenever you wish for something, something or someone far more important will be taken from you. If you wish for a million dollars, you’ll get it - when a loved one’s life insurance policy is doled out, because that loved one is now dead. You have a million dollars, just what you wished for - kind of. Marietta asked me what I would ask for if I could have anything. She left the room so I could really give it some thought. When she returned, she asked what I wanted and we prayed. I told her, what I wanted most was to understand the cross. If I could have a glimpse of the cross, everything else would come into alignment and prioritize itself. I might have a different take on sin and have the courage to make the difficult decisions, if I only understood the cross. I also thought, if I pray for this, there is NO way it could turn out poorly, a win-win.
Later that same day, Marietta and I met in the lobby to go for pizza, as she had promised earlier in the school. She had identified me and two others as the “trouble-makers”, and she said that she would take us out for dinner, because she liked spending time with “trouble-makers”. Tonight happened to be my night. The walk to the tram was awkward, it is never nice to be seen in your sin; but it always seems harder the next time you meet, after the shame sets in. We rode the tram and got off at the square, where I was promised American style pizza. The square or plaza was packed with soccer fans and all the jumbo screens had been moved outdoors to accommodate the people who were there to cheer for their teams. Making our way to the restaurant, we entered and ordered our pizza. A group of men sat down at the table next to us. One of the men leaned over and began speaking to us in Dutch with a crude and drunken smile. Marietta spoke harsh Dutch words back to him. She would not translate anything that was said because it was, in her words, “not nice”. These men continued until they lost interest and left the restaurant, having never ordered a thing. Embarrassment now heaped on the shame I had carried in with me, we cut our dinner short and decided to go back to the base and call it a night. Again we walked through the busy square; the men, impossibly more drunk than they were at our first crossing. A number of them began yelling at us, leaning into our path as we tried to pass. Marietta grabbed my hand and held it tightly; taking tiny but very quick steps, she pulled me along. I could hear her chattering prayers. Then, as if in slow motion, I heard very clearly, heavy footsteps coming up from behind; slowly at first, but gaining speed. A heavy foot landed in the center of my back. A grown man had run up from behind and kicked me?! What in the world is going on?! What did I do to deserve this?! We caught the very next tram which would take us to central station, where we waited for our transfer. Then, while we waited, several transvestite prostitutes joined us in the shelter. It was so hard standing there, trying not to look them in the eyes; trying not to give any indication that I was interested in responding to them. They sensed discomfort and made a game as they laughed and pointed at me; but I still pretended not to notice the things they were doing just inches away from me. The moment we returned to the base, exasperated Marietta ran off in one direction, saying something about prayer. I later heard that she had called a group together to pray for us, and more specifically to pray for me as what I had experienced could only be described by her as a “spiritual attack”. She went her direction, and I went mine. I found a friend and walked with her down by the canal and told her the entire story. Told her how I got busted for the movie, and how I cried like a baby when I had to apologize. I told her how I had met with Marietta, and how she told me to ask for one thing from God; and finally, how my pizza night had gone so absurdly wrong, and how mean everyone was, and how gross I felt after being teased and kicked and insulted. To my surprise, she answered with such excitement, “That is amazing! You got a glimpse of the cross!” Immediately, I knew she was right, and somehow had known as this was occurring, that God had been present with me. This was a gift, an answer to prayer! I was not at all disappointed. To this day, I consider that to be the best answer to prayer I’ve ever received. I am not saying I’ve experienced the cross, or anything close to it, but I did get a glimpse, ever so slight, of a little bit of what Jesus may have felt as he walked with his cross to the place of the skull.