Randy's Dash

Randy’s Dash

         “Dan, I’d like to teach your class if you have to be gone,” Randy offered while smiling and nodding his head at me. Somehow he had become a member of my Sunday School class—a class of married fifty-year-old couples.

         “I tell you what, Randy,” I spoke slowly to him and softly, smiling at him all the time, “why don’t I let you help me. We can kind of do it together.”

         “Yes, that would be fine,” he replied, satisfied that his participation would be one of importance.

         Randy was fifty-one years old physically. His body was round and unconditioned. Mentally, he was eight years old. As you probably guessed, he never married or had a family of his own. He lived in his own world with his imagination to keep him happy. His imagination provided everything that he thought was important, having no family of his own to speak of. Rumor was that there was a distant cousin living in a town a couple of hundred miles away. He lived separated from any blood relation, in a group home with several other mentally-challenged adults.

         One Sunday morning, out of the blue, the church office received a telephone call asking if someone could come by and pick Randy up so that he could attend Sunday School and church. The beautiful thing about Christian people is that there is always someone willing to go out of their way to help. Someone picked Randy up for that service and for every service since then. He became an attachment to our church. At first folks were wary of Randy, choosing not to sit too close. He could be a little strange at times. But we soon learned that he was the most docile and loving person among us. Unfortunately, he always remained a little strange. But that was Randy.

         On numerous occasions, while sitting in my Sunday School class, Randy would share prayer requests during the appropriate time at the beginning of the period.

         On one such occassion he announced, “Dan, I’d like you to remember my sister, who lives in Houston. She is a missionary and has cancer. Please pray for her.”

         “Thank you, Randy,” I said, knowing that he did not have a sister. I also knew that whoever I called on to share our prayer would knowingly include his imaginary sister in the prayer. He otherwise sat quietly through the Sunday School lesson, while others shared viewpoints and made comments. At the conclusion of the class I often asked him if he could close our class with prayer. His faced beamed as he helped. His prayer, although simple, was always thoughtful, reverent, and short.

         This past Christmas, Randy attended the annual banquet that is always held at that time. The featured event was an auction of items donated by various members, of which the proceeds are applied to Christmas gifts for a needy family. The auction was spirited, and the prices willingly and knowingly inflated. A particular item worth five dollars was placed on the auction block.

         “Who will give five dollars?” began the auctioneer.

         “Five here!” a member began the bidding.

         “Who’ll make it ten?”

         “Ten here!”

         And on the auction continued with the dollar amount rising steadily. At thirty-five dollars it was obvious that the upper price had been reached.

         “Forty dollars, who will make it forty dollars?” the auctioneer called raising the gavel. “Going once…going…”

         “Forty dollars!” Randy called, beaming now that he had discovered how the auction worked.

         “Forty dollars it is! Do I hear forty-five?”

         The attendees were amazed at Randy’s bid. Understanding that he had no concept of the financial liability that he was incurring, a member responded in an effort to extradite Randy from the situation, “Forty-five here!”

         “Forty-five dollars down front, now do I hear fifty?”

         “Fifty,” beamed Randy.

         “Fifty-five!” called a member from the back.

         “Fifty-five dollars, do I hear sixty?” barked the auctioneer.

         “Sixty!” Randy called, jumping up in glee.

         There was a chuckle here and there, but no one dared speak. It was apparent that this would continue without end. Randy had gotten into the spirit of the auction. He had no financial assets, but he had the routine down cold.

         “Going once….going twice….sold!”

         The item was sold. I was not sure to whom, but I knew it woiuld not be Randy. During the course of the evening I made my way over to the cashier. Quietly I handed her a check for sixty dollars. I was puzzled when she began to laugh. It started as a smile and grew into an infectious laugh that caused everyone around her to begin giggling.

         When she regained her composure I asked, “What in the world is so funny?”

         “This is the fifth check for sixty dollars that I have been given for that item. Randy’s bidding has raised $300 on that one five dollar item.”

         At the beginning of our Sunday School period, we have a social moment where donuts and coffee are provided while class members arrive. Randy caused many smiles when he entered the assembly area. Like clockwork he would go straight to the donut counter and load up on donuts, usually five or six. We laughed at Randy’s haul every Sunday morning until we discovered that it was no laughing matter. Unknown to us, he was a diabetic. The personnel at the group home did not inform us and we did not ask. It is a lesson well learned. After one morning, he fell into a sugar induced comma. He recovered; however, both the group home and his church family severely curtailed Randy’s sugar input.

         Last Sunday was the last Sunday that I saw Randy. At the beginning of my class I asked if anyone had any good reports that they wanted to share. He slowly held his hand up.

         “I have a praise,” he said smiling.

         “Go ahead, Randy,” I urged.

         “Well, last Wednesday I went to my new job. I had a lot of work to do. Papers were stacked this high.” Randy gestured a three foot stack of papers. “This lady came and said, ‘You can finish that later, why don’t you go eat lunch with me?’ So, I went. And she paid for my lunch! And that’s my praise.”

         We knew there was no new job, no stack of papers, no lady, and no lunch. However, I believe that to Randy there was. Reality and imagination were difficult to separate for Randy. He heard us talk about business, lunches, and relationships. His imagination created his world so that he could be a part of ours. We must be flexible to make room for others who are disadvantaged to be a part of our lives. When we do we will discover the amazing reward that it brings.

         Last Wednesday Randy died. We understand that he arose early in the morning happy. He walked to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. Before he finished his drink, he fell to the floor, a victim of a massive heart attack. He died on the kitchen floor. My heart is saddened by his loss. I still don’t know anything about him. Everything that he told us was a fabrication of his simple mind. But everywhere he went, he caused folks to smile and wonder at his simple goodness.

         I heard a poem once that reduced the total significance of a person to a simple notation: two dates and a dash…”born”-“died”. We have a beginning time and an ending time. The period that makes it significant is the “dash” between the years. To many, Randy’s simple “dash” holds little significance. But to me and a handful of church members we will always be grateful that we contributed a little to his “dash” between the years. I have little to offer the Randy’s of this world. Therefore I am grateful when a person like Randy comes into my life and lets me become a part of the “dash” between the years.