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Could I tell her what I really thought about her casino job?

Jane A. Rubietta

"So what do you think about me postponing my plans to finish my degree, and getting a job on the riverboat casino instead?"

My mouth went dry. Jennie was a recently separated mother of three, and she had looked long and hard for a job. Here was one offering a decent salary, benefits, and the chance to provide for her children. I knew several single moms who'd been lured to the boats because of the security they offered.

Jennie and I had met through our church.

Sometimes brusque, at this stage in life she refuses to compromise her straightforward honesty for friendship.

"I figure if people don't want to know what I think, then they aren't my friends anyway," she explains.

Our relationship has endured because it's based on a few essentials: honesty, compassion, and the love of God. I can't remember a time when her honesty hurt my feelings because I always knew what she said was motivated by love and sincerity, and with her questions she expected the same.

But when Jennie asked me about the riverboat job, I stumbled and stammered, trying to temper a passionate response. Gambling preys so obviously on people's addictive tendencies. I hedged. "I have to pray about it, Jen. Then I'll write you a note." Hanging up the phone, I knew the gist of my letter but was half afraid to admit it.

As I prayed, I recognized my age-old fear of offending another person. I was allowing my fear of losing a friend over a touchy subject to supersede my desire to help her. My need to be liked was threatening a higher calling—to speak the truth in love.

This issue reminds me of the job of gatekeeping in Old Testament times: "The gatekeepers—kept watch at the gates" (Neh. 11:19, nasb). If people saw something amiss while guarding the gates, they shouted a warning. Citizens knew that the gatekeepers were doing their job—protecting people—and accepted the warnings. If marauders stormed across the land, guards blew the horn to prepare the people. If merchants tried to sell goods on the Sabbath, the gatekeepers sent them packing (Neh. 13:15-22).

Could I do anything less with someone I called a friend and a sister? Finally, I took the risk. I wrote a letter to my friend:

Dear Jennie:

I've been praying for you practically like breathing, and I wonder what you'll think of this.

Seems that your life would be the most normal and you'd be the most fulfilled if you were able to complete your schooling. You'd be challenged; it would feel good to be doing something that would move you ahead in your dreams and goals (would the riverboat do that?), and your future would be brighter. At least you'd have a future. (Plus, you wouldn't be making money off somebody else's weakness for gambling or a corporation's preying upon vulnerable people.)

The effect on your kids would be more in terms of monetary stuff, but we all know that if kids feel loved, the amount of money hanging around doesn't matter much. All the money in the world wouldn't buy them security, but your creative, loving presence would transmit safety to them. If you arranged your classes to be during the daytime, while Joe and Margie were at school, then Bob would be affected only a couple of mornings a week before afternoon kindergarten. The hours he'd be with a sitter would sure be less than if you were working nights and weekends on the boat.

Also, I heard of a pilot program that offers child care to women returning to school to get a degree. You might want to check that out.

Meantime, I'll keep praying and breathing. I love you, Jennie, and the offer is always open of a home and food (Okay, so we'd live on popcorn and peanut butter sandwiches; it could be worse.)

Love, Jane

My phone rang as soon as Jennie read her mail.
"I'm not taking it."
"What?"
"The job on the riverboat."
"Oh." My relief had to show in my voice. I took a deep, praise-filled breath.

"Thanks for your letter. I got goose bumps when I read it. You're the only person who talked to me about the ethical issues around this job."

I was glad I'd said something—but also disappointed. Not all of Jennie's friends are Christians, but I knew that her Christian peers had become increasingly important since her separation. She'd talked to them about this job, and no one said anything about the ethics involved?

Where are the gatekeepers who will sound the alarm when danger approaches? Where are those who will help guard the gates of our souls? When the love of God constrains me, I decided I must be more interested in guiding a sister or brother in loving truth than in securing a friendship through bland silence.

Perhaps it's time to rewrite our job descriptions, something like this: "Friend: n. [gatekeeper] who will speak the truth in love out of concern for another's life before God; someone who will risk his relationship with a person in order to help that person."

A Christian Reader original article.

Copyright © 2002 by the author or Christianity Today International/Today's Christian magazine (formerly Christian Reader).
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