Angels
House
© 2007 by Tony Hearn
Chapter Four
And God relented when the Israelites kept begging
him for a king. "Okay," God said to them, "You're not going to
like having a king. But because you are such constant complainers, I will give you
what you keep asking for!" And God gave them Saul to be their king, and
Saul ruled even harshly over the Israelites.
And God relented when Tony Hearn kept begging for a
location for a soup kitchen. Poor God! I know I did annoy him. I was
persistent! I got my ego involved! It was a matter of personal pride.
"I've got to set up this soup kitchen or I will end up standing in a
breadline," I kept telling God and all the angels of heaven or elsewhere.
"Where is the promised soup kitchen?" I would even shout godward!
Those poor tennis shoes! I was wearing them out.
Having no car, I was walking the streets of Austin, searching. I should have
been praying. I would have been guided unerringly to what and where I would
have found rest.
Before I departed San Antonio to seek a location for
a soup kitchen in Austin, a friend of mine who was high in the administration
at Our Lady of the Lake College suggested I seek out a person who ran a
restaurant in downtown Austin.
"Go find Cynthia
Perez!" the friend said. (I can't remember his name though I'm trying.)
"Cynthia runs a taco place somewhere downtown," he said. "It's
called 'Las Manitas.' If anyone can help you, it will be her!"
So I went off, wearing those
tennis shoes, to Austin, carting my few furnishings and clothes in a rental
truck. I had given up my car months earlier. When I arrived, I placed my
possessions in a storage unit. With a suitcase, I set out on foot to pay a
visit to a friend I knew from Wimberley. She had an apartment in South Austin
where she stayed when she was in town.
The friend was a woman of
prayer. Her first name was Martha, but she was a "Mary," not a
"Martha," but she qualified in both categories. She became my
enabler, both for good and, sadly, for some ill. But we won't elaborate on the
latter.
"But you can stay
here!" Martha insisted when I revealed that I needed to find a place to
stay while I searched for the location for the soup kitchen.
"Thank you, Lord!"
I said. My funds were dwindling fast, and the invitation to sleep on a couch
sounded better than my plan to sleep on a park bench.
The search began in earnest
my first morning in Austin. I put on the energized tennis shoes. I must have
walked all over the downtown. I was looking for that place called "Las
Manitas." I finally gave up searching.
"God!" I cried.
"Help me find 'Las Manitas'!" I bellowed inwardly and secretly to the
sky. I didn't want to call too much attention to myself because I was taking on
the appearance of a person in grave distress. "Tony asking for help from
another mortal? Never! From God? Yes! But not from another person!"
A funny thing then happened.
I was walking down Congress Avenue on the east side of the street heading
toward the Colorado River. I was almost crying. I saw a sign hanging over the
sidewalk. It read: "Avenue Cafe!"
"Damn!" I spoke
directly to God. "Double damn! I've seen every sort of restaurant sign
today and you, YOU Lord, haven't done a blessed thing to help me find a place
called 'Las Manitas'!" I was angry with God. Big mistake! But I'm known,
even then, for being intemperate and impulsive. A real son of thunder!
No sooner than my complaint
was uttered, God produced for me. So help me, those tennis shoes pivoted. I was
turned in my tracks to face a window, and on the window under the sign "Avenue
Cafe" was painted another name in colorful script "Las Manitas
Cafe."
"Damn!" I uttered
again. "Lord! Thank you! Thank you for these tennis shoes! Thank you for
causing me to become aware of what was right beside me. Thank you for
tolerating me!"
I bit my lip for I almost
started to cry! Instead, I went in and sat at the counter. I ordered a taco! I
asked the person who brought the taco from the kitchen, "Can anyone tell
me where I can find someone named Cynthia? She's supposed to run this place!"
"I'm Cynthia!" the
person said in a low-toned voice. I bit my lip again rather than ask why the
devil the overhanging sign said "Avenue Cafe."
