The Wondering is Part of the Story

You might have experienced a Nick in your life: a family in your neighborhood who abruptly pulled up stakes and moved out, a coworker who left for vacation and never came back, a student who took a leave of absence that became permanent. Someone who was in your life briefly, but vanished.

Nick was such a person and every so often I wonder where he landed.

The wondering, I’ve decided, is part of the story.

Nick was a drifter who came looking for money and shelter when I served a church in rural northern Wisconsin. Our church had funds to put him up for a few nights in the local motel, and Nick found a job very quickly. Granted it wasn’t much of a job, washing dishes part time, but it was an income.

After the third night, I called the motel to tell them we could pay for one more night, but the proprietor Amy said, “We don’t have any vacancy.” I knew the motel; it was a dive. Weatherbeaten doors numbered 1-12, warped and faded metal chairs bolted outside rooms that always looked empty, a place that looked about as tacky as they come. This motel had never been full. So when I questioned her, Amy said, “Well, we don’t have room for Nick. He has been a problem every night.”

Oh. Hmmm.

Nick was inscrutably polite to me, but apparently too much alcohol at night got him going. The motel owner was not being cruel; there are limits on compassion, and systems have boundaries.

That day Nick wanted to go to the neighboring town, some 20 miles away. He hitchhiked there and returned late afternoon. I’m not sure where he stayed that night, but he showed up again the following morning at church and took a second job with a local farmer who was a member of my church, shoveling goat manure. This proved to be too much for Nick; he only lasted an hour. The farmer said he looked green. Nick again said he would be hitchhiking to the same nearby town, and that was the last I saw of him.

Most stories have conclusions, or at least some clear learning. I’m not sure this one does, except that sometimes we have to live with mystery. Nick passed through my life and my church. We gave him respect, a few nights of safety, a connection to work, and a moment of dignity. That is sometimes enough. That person you occasionally remember, the person who disappeared: the wondering is part of the story.

About the Author: Rev. Sharon Smith serves St. Paul’s Lutheran church, writes a newspaper column, and has helped exactly one drifter find work washing dishes and shoveling goat manure. She continues to believe dignity matters, even when outcomes are unclear, when stories don’t resolve, and people don’t stay. She believes granting dignity goes a long way, even when the person’s past and future are unknown. Contact Sharon at tct@pageone-inc.com