You know God is present in every person when a brief encounter with a stranger lives in your memory years afterward. Such is the case with me and a quiet, elderly Chicago Cubs fan who called himself "Just Me Ernie." (Though "Ernie" was not his actual name, I'll use it in this post for the sake of privacy.)
Ernie's path and mine crossed ever-so-slightly in the centerfield bleachers at Wrigley Field about 15 years ago. It was nothing dramatic--more like the "tiny whispering sound" in which Elijah heard God after failing to find him in the wind, earthquake and fire. (1 Kings 19:11-13)
I had made a trip to Wrigley from west Michigan with some friends, and Ernie was seated just to our right. He was all by himself--sort of. While he sat unaccompanied on the bleacher bench, a young woman checked on him every now and then, bringing food and drink when needed. But when she was not tending to Ernie this gal kept her distance, remaining near the back of the bleacher section where she could keep an eye on him--like Ernie, all by herself.
On his lap Ernie held a Polaroid camera. He asked me and my friends if we would like our picture taken. We accepted his offer, and in a moment the Polaroid zipped out our image to develop in the Wrigleyville sun. Before handing it to us, he took out a pen and autographed the bottom border of the print: "Just Me Ernie."
I don't know how much film Ernie went through that day, but he took pictures of many other people. To all he affixed the same signature that, curiously, drew attention to the fact that he was alone.
My thanks were the only words I shared with him; but in the many years since I have often thought of "Just Me Ernie" and wondered about his life.
Why did he want us to notice he was "Just Me"? Was he proud of it, or was he calling to us that he was lonely? Did he have anyone close to him? Who was that gal who took care of him, and why did she keep her distance? How many games did he attend, and did he come so much for the baseball or the companionship, and the chance to give his simple gift of photographs to strangers?
And why do I still think of him after all these years? I had come to Wrigley Field as a baseball fan to watch a game--but all I remember about that day is Ernie.
I'll never find the answers to my questions about Just Me Ernie, but I'm beginning to figure out the last one. Nobody sticks in your mind for so long--no less a stranger you met only once--unless God is trying to tell you something.
So what is there to learn from this angel in the bleachers? Here's my list:
*Just one person, performing even the simplest act of kindness, can make a lasting impression.
*Even when it may seem like we're alone, we too have someone watching over us, taking care of our most essential needs.
*No one is "Just Me"--either in the sense of being alone, or being insignificant.
*If I want to find something out, I need to ask questions. I'm sure Ernie would have given me answers to all my questions if I had bothered to ask. The answers may not have been what I was looking for (such as "none of your business"), but I would've received answers. Likewise, God will always give me answers to my questions--whether or not they're the ones I expect--but nothing will happen unless I pray.
*Last but not least: Wrigley Field really isn't cursed--it has been blessed by "Just Me Ernie" and his gentle presence.
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