Boxcar Woody's

{Saturday Stories give you a chance to catch up on your daily Bible reading since there aren’t any assigned texts today. This is a story I wrote several years ago. Most of my readers either haven’t read it or don’t remember it, so I pulled it out of the archives of my hard drive and put it here for your enjoyment. You will probably be able to guess around what year this was written by the cultural reference toward the end.}

Boxcar Woody’s is on Agnew, down in the Stockyard district south of downtown OKC.

When I walked in the side door of the main warehouse, a guy buzzed by, pointed behind himself, and said, “He’ll be with you in a minute,” before disappearing into the front office. I wasn’t sure who he was, since there were three men standing where he motioned toward. That was fine by me.

I’d driven a couple of hours to pick up material for a project — something I’d been wanting to get done for weeks. I figured I’d look around.

A few minutes later, Sabastian approached — broad-shouldered, gregarious, African American gentleman in a navy-blue Dickies work shirt and jeans. He stuck out his hand. We shook.

“I’m Steve,” I said, then explained my project. A dining table. Six feet long, maybe four or five feet wide.

“That’s a big table,” Sabastian exclaimed.

“It is,” I nodded. “But let me explain.”

I told him how my wife had stood on one side of the room, held out her hand toward me, had me reach across and hold her hand. “She said she wanted it as big as the room would allow — but narrow enough that we could still reach across and hold hands when we pray.”

Sabastian smiled wide. “My brother, pray for us.”

“You want me to pray for you?”

“I want you to pray for me… and I want you to pray for you. Let’s pray.”

“Well, alright then.” I took off my hat, bowed my head, and prayed — for Sabastian, for myself, for good wood and good work.

After the “amens,” I told Sabastian which planks I had my eye on. He heard me, but he had other plans.

For the next little while, he led me from one lumber stack to the next, full of enthusiasm, telling me where each piece came from — 100-year-old rail cars, power poles, the International Harvester Building, an old winery… It was the grand tour. Worth every minute.

Once the tour was over, we got down to business. We spent a couple of hours sorting through stacks of lumber — in the warehouse, in a trailer out back, even in a storage building down the street. Sabastian wanted me to find the right planks.

When I was satisfied, loaded up, and paid up, Sabastian said, “Alright, now I’m going to pray.”

And pray he did.

Some people make me think social distancing and isolation might not be such a bad idea. But then… I meet a Sabastian. And suddenly, people seem alright again.

Photo by Carolina Jorquera on Unsplash