VL - Issue 18 - November 2015

Under the Hat by
It wasn’t the first time that hat had caused
unwanted attention. Six months earlier, I’d worn
the hat into a local Goodwill store. (My mistake
wasn’t just wearing the hat; I’d paired it with soccer
shorts and bright purple running shoes.) I entered
the store, and a man saw me and nudged his wife.
“Look at this joker!” He laughed.
That should’ve been the last time I wore it.
Indeed, I actually threw it into the back of the closet
for a while, but I have an unending love for funky
hats and clothes. I dug it back out. It’s a fashion
style that betrays its followers into situations much
like one I now found myself in, as I sat next to a
dirty, old, homeless man in the Chicago subway.
He crowded in next to me and proceeded to
make fun of my Russian fur hat.
“Whoo-haa! That’s a furry li’l hat!” The man’s
voice carried well above the noise of the tracks,
and everyone turned to look at me, the man with
the furry hat. I was glad I wasn’t wearing my
purple shoes.
The homeless man scooted in closer, his gaze
glued to the hat. “Where’d you get it?” he asked.
Normally, I would have ignored his inquiries
and pretended to be grossly involved in something
important on my phone. This is a common strategy
used by Chicagoans to avoid embarrassing
conversations with the homeless. I know I shouldn’t
stoop to such behavior, but I admit that, like many
who are self-conscious or simply uninterested
in such conversation, I do resort to such tactics
at times.
I was raised in a Christian home, even attended
a Bible college in Chicago. I know I’m to reach
into the lives of people and share God’s love.
Unfortunately, I often leave the whole “love thy
neighbor” thing at the turnstile when boarding the
subway. I always pick it back up once I safely exit.
That’s good enough, isn’t it?
The homeless man continued to stare at my
hat, waiting for my answer. I looked down at my
phone but then stopped. A crazy idea popped into
my head. I’ve always been terrible with accents; the
last time I tried to copy a British accent, I ended
up sounding something like Louis Armstrong! But
this time, I went ahead and pursed my lips together,
pushed my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and
hoped it would produce the desired accent.
“It’za from Russia,” I told him in my fake Russian
accent. A girl across the aisle burst out laughing but
quickly muffled it so as not to wreck the next scene.
“Really?! No way, man! That’s awesome,” he
exclaimed, slapping his knees with both hands
in excitement. “Where can I get one of those?”
Jacob Miller
he slurred. Eyes all around the train watched me
intently, waiting for my response.
I pulled myself back into character. “Youz can’t;
onlyz in Russia,” I told him, pointing to the fur hat.
“Diz fur, youz no find in Chicaga.”
People around the train chuckled.
“Ahh, man! I knew it!” The homeless man wailed.
He kicked the seat in front of him, causing more
heads to turn. Folding his arms, he positioned
himself into a pout and didn’t say another word. I
just smiled and felt proud that I had put an end to
his banter. Others around the car seemed relieved
that he had stopped his incessant chatter. We all
rode on in silence. Mission accomplished.
As I reflected on this scene later, however,
I realized an ugly truth. What I had done to that
homeless man was perhaps more unkind than
simply ignoring him. I had played him for a fool.
My fur hat had become a tool for a cruel joke
that mocked the disillusionment of this man.
That’s right––a man. A man created and loved by
God. A man who needed, not my mocking, but my
compassion.
I realized that this man was wearing a hat he
didn’t want to wear. He couldn’t pretend to be
someone else. He was trapped with the hat he
had come to know in life. And there I was, a man
trying to escape his own identity under the guise
of Russian fur.
Could it be that my love for hats was really a
desire for new identity? With each hat, I could be
anyone I wanted in public—while avoiding who
I actually was in private. A man unsettled. A man
afraid. A man unsure.
And that was it, wasn’t it? The identities I’d been
taking on stemmed from my insecurity in who I
truly was. Nobody goes around proclaiming their
insecurities to the world, and I had no intention
of strolling through the streets of Chicago sharing
Jesus because, oddly enough, my greatest insecurity
was in my own relationship with Him.
continued on page 23
Hat
Check!
by Jacob Miller and Kristi Overton Johnson
God didn’t intend for His beautifully
created people to hide under hats––to go
about life hiding from the world and from
Him. When we make mistakes, God never
says, “Hey! Go put on a hat! I can’t bear to
look at you.”
No, that’s not our Father. Our Father
says, “Come to Me, child. It’s okay. Come
out from wherever you’re hiding and tell
Me what’s on your heart. Tell Me what
you’ve done. Tell Me about your struggles
and fears. Tell Me about your dreams or
disappointments.”
He doesn’t push us away or demand we
become someone other than who we truly
are. Instead, our heavenly Father invites us
to come now, simply as we are. To come
to Him with all of our fears, mistakes, and
insecurities, so He can love us and make
us whole.
God wants you to come––yes, you!––to
come just as you are. In all your dirtiness,
with all your mistakes, in the midst of your
confusion.
God’s love for you isn’t dependent
upon your past. It doesn’t depend on your
current abilities or situation. It’s based on
one fact, and one fact alone: You are His
child. And He’s waiting with arms wide
open for you to come home to Him. It’s
there that you’ll find your true identity. It’s
there you will discover you are infinitely
loved, no matter what. V
22 www.kojministries.org