The father, the son, and the holy roast

From journal, February 17, 2014:

Yesterday, at church, an old person collapsed in the lobby, and as I was about to enter, a gentleman stopped me and asked that I walk around the side of the building to the other entrance.

“Sure,” I said, panic rising. “That’s fine.”

Normally this wouldn’t be a big deal. Lobbies generally aren’t something of importance, and I’d gladly go around. But yesterday, I desperately needed a cup of coffee, and the coffee was housed in the lobby–where we weren’t allowed to go because of the paramedics.

“Oh my gosh, what happened?” my girlfriend said to another church member, who looked understandably concerned.

“Dave fainted, I think. I don’t know. I think he’s ok. But I don’t know.”

“What?!” said another church member walking up. “Oh my gosh! That’s terrible!”

“Yeah, I hope he’s ok.”

It’s here that my perception of myself changed forever. I used to think I was a pretty decent person, with good intentions and other people’s welfare in mind. But as I watched him be rolled onto the stretcher, I turned to my girlfriend, lost and concerned, and half-whispered, “So…do you think it’s ok to go get coffee now? Or no?”

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