His name is Eugene

His name is Eugene. He’s out there somewhere today – maybe Cincinnati, maybe Logansport or Lafayette. You might miss him, though, for all the angels crowded around.

Eugene came very quickly into my life and just as quickly was gone. But he was the closest I have come in a long, long time to Easter Sunday morning coming down.

The great miracle of Easter leaves me saying with the words of the old hymn, “I scarce can take it in.”

But the small miracle that came to me one Saturday afternoon helps me to understand that God loves us, that He sent His only Son that we might have eternal life.

I sat pouring out my troubles to the priest. My job had me down. I didn’t know what God wanted me to do with my life. I couldn’t see a way out. I hurt and couldn’t stop hurting. I was miserable, confused, frustrated, angry, broken.

Father was very kind to me. He showed me that he understood my dilemma and offered me patient and caring possibilities. We talked of prayer and soliciting the prayer of others.

As kind as Father was, and as insightful was his council, still I didn’t have much faith that things would change. I felt hopeless and detached, as if there was nothing anyone could do, really. I had prayed. It just didn’t seem like God was listening.

There came a ring on the rectory bell. Father left the room and I could hear him conversing with someone at the door. Before long, he returned asking if I could give a man a ride to the nearest truck stop. That’s what he wanted, Father said.

We talked a minute longer before I came into the hall and met Eugene.

He was looking for work, he said, and he couldn’t find any in Lafayette. He’d be willing to do any kind of job, he said. He wasn’t looking for a handout.

I told Eugene that I didn’t know which was worse, having a job or not having one. He said he’d be grateful if I could take him to a truck stop so he could catch a ride with a trucker to Cincinnati. He’d left Logansport not finding work. Lafayette didn’t have any jobs. Maybe Cincinnati would be the right town. I told him I’d be glad to give him a ride.

Eugene was in every respect a gentleman of the road. But unlike other fellows I have met along the way, his eyes were clear and his manner cheerful.

“I don’t have no education,” he said, “but I’m a good worker. I’ll find a job soon enough.”

I told him he seemed pretty confident of that. He said indeed he was. “God takes care of me,” he said. “I walk along the road, but I don’t worry about anything. I’m happy because I know God’s not going to let anything happen to me. I haven’t got nothing and I don’t have no good education or anything, but I haven’t gone hungry yet.

“I believe in God,” Eugene said. “I don’t drink, but I do smoke.” His clothes were not much, but they were obviously clean. His hair was combed neatly. He smiled often, and spoke animatedly and with conviction. I offered him one of my cigarettes.

“What’s your name?” he asked me. “Tom,” he said, “you know what I do when I’m walking down the highway? I pray. I don’t have anything else to do so I just talk to God. I pray for everybody. I’m not one of these that just prays for the poor people. I know everybody’s got troubles. I pray for them that’s not got money, and I pray for them that’s got money, too. I know God loves everybody.

“Sometimes I get scared when I’m walking along. These big trucks come by and I’m afraid I’ll get hit or something. But you know, Tom, God sends His angels down to protect me. He absolutely does. Before you know it I’m walking down the road with a bunch of angels.”

Not once at the rectory nor once along the way to the truck stop did Eugene ask me for anything but a ride, nor even indicate that he wanted anything more.

When we arrived at the restaurant, I told Eugene that I sure was glad to have met him, that he helped me a lot more than I helped him.

In my heart, I felt redeemed. I was reminded through this man that the quality of our earthly stay has more to do with confidence in God than in our circumstances.

He said he would never forget me. He said that when he was walking along, he would pray for me. He said that when we got to heaven we’d see each other again, and he was really looking forward to that.

Happy Easter, Eugene, wherever you are. I’m looking forward to seeing you again, too.

written by Thomas A. Russell
first published in the Lafayette Sunday Visitor on April 13th, 1986