Tonight was different.  Many evenings before this, from my own office or whenever I walked the halls, I would see this middle-aged man working hard to clean our corporate office.  The Cleaning Service company name was emblazoned across the front and back of his maroon t-shirt, yet this man’s name was no where to be seen.

Many times, almost every time in fact, I had said hello or good evening, and this man had graciously replied. His deep voice possessed the accent of what I thought was sure to be the history of an African nation.

Tonight was different.  I was working later than usual.  I left my office to get a drink from the kitchen.  Along the way, our paths crossed yet again.  This time, for some inexplicable reason, I felt the need, not an urge, but a real need, to stop and say more than just hello.  After the routine greetings, I muttered, almost mumbled, “what is your name?”  The strong yet peaceful soul spelled out, “W-O-N-D-E-R, like Stevie Wonder.” I smiled and asked, “Where are you from originally?”  Wonder replied, “Zimbabwe.”

I shared that my wife and I had been to Zimbabwe and that we dearly loved the people and the beauty of this incredible country.  Wonder’s heart must have filled with joy, based upon the look in his eyes at that moment.  He shared sweet anecdotes of life in Zimbabwe as I listened intently.

Suddenly that warm tingly aha feeling rushed over me, as I said, “You know I have something I’d like to share with you.  My wife and I work with an organization called Acres of Love that provides homes for abandoned and HIV-positive children in South Africa.  When you take a break, please stop by my office, and I’ll share something with you.”

Several minutes had passed, when Wonder’s glow illuminated my office doorway.  I shared the brief story of Acres of Love and showed him the video.  As the video ended, I turned to a Wonder who was silently wiping tears away.  I was done.  What happened next, was the gift of life itself unraveled and placed before me as a banquet of grace and love—one of those moments that makes you wish you could “stay right here, without moving, for a very long time.”

Wonder asked if he could share a story with me.  The “ask” itself was filled with such reverence, respect, and servant heart.  Of course.  I was open, eager to hear every word this man had to say.

Amidst the humble sharing of his family’s story, Wonder explained that one son, in his thirties, was about to graduate from the University of Delaware, and had built a great career with McDonald’s along the way.  Wonder and his wife, had brought this son to America five years ago so he could attend college.  Two years ago Wonder’s wife returned to Zimbabwe to support their other daughter, an accountant age 26, and their other son who now lives in South Africa.  Throughout the viewing of the Acres of Love video, Wonder kept politely, quietly repeating that it was God’s work.

Wonder then gently, even delicately told the story of his daughter and son-in-law, and their baby son, who all had passed away from AIDS eight years ago in Zimbabwe.  Still to this day, no one in the family knows how or who was infected first, and they have let this mystery go in their journey for peace and acceptance of this unbearable loss.

Wonder apologized for his tears, and dutifully said he had to get back to work.  I could tell there was something else he wanted to tell me.  It took very little to urge him on.  The safety, trust and grace of the moment embraced us.  I repeated, “No apologies needed. Thank you for sharing!”

Wonder explained that in his small village in Zimbabwe he knew the exact day that he was supposed to have died.  Just after sunset one evening, just steps outside of his own home, five young men assaulted Wonder, taking his watch, stripping him of anything of value, and then kicking and hitting him repeatedly.  As Wonder felt his body “fall in” from the crush of these boys, he clasped his “important papers” in his shirt pocket, and began to think, “Now is the time I am going to die.”

Wonder said he became calm and resigned to the situation, even relaxing his body as he lay on his back with all five boys on top of him.  He looked up at the boys and said, “Boys I forgive you. I do not blame you.  I understand why you have to do this.  Your anger is to survive.  I understand. I forgive you.”  The boys stopped hitting and kicking him, but still held on strong.  Staring back into the eyes of Wonder, they all looked on.  One boy said, “Can you help us?”  Wonder replied, “Yes I can, take my money, but don’t take me, my children will suffer alone without me.”  At this same moment, one boy drew back his knife, ready to end Wonder’s life.  Another boy, said, “No. The money, not the man. He’s a father!”  And all at once, the boys let go their strong hold on Wonder, backed away and ran off.  Wonder closed his eyes and said a prayer.

After arriving home with a swollen mouth and broken jaw, scrapes and bruises, Wonder hugged his wife and children, and cried himself to sleep.  Later that night, Wonder woke with a stirring image.  He looked out his window toward the cemetery of his village.  He saw a grave site, newly dug, with the soil piled high above ground.  The message Wonder heard, “This grave was for you, but it is now nothing but dirt.”  Wonder said he believes this image was a message confirming his faith and trust.

Wonder promptly stood up, wiped his tears, and thanked me profusely for sitting with him.  I said, “I thank you for the gift of your sharing.  You have touched my heart deeply and I wish you all the best.”  My words failed me. I could not think of adequate language at the moment.  I trust he knew though.”

It’s a wonder what life moments bring in the face of pressing in deeper to understand the love that surrounds our human lives.  It’s a wonder indeed.  Here’s to the man who cleans our offices every night.  What a Wonder he truly is.

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