Monday, May 12, 2008
house cleaning
I jammed my hand between the layers of outfits in my closet and almost got a crush injury. I know that top is in here somewhere. In here or maybe...I traipsed back upstairs to the guest room for the third time. Looking for clothes in my house was good exercise. Aerobic and isometric. I had three closets to choose from and no matter how organized I had attempted to be things always went against me. Like the fact that I had no idea how to be organized. I abhorred neat people! Some people even had their clothes organized by season and colors. What made them so much better than me! Well I hate to state the obvious, but maybe they found what they were looking for quicker.
An hour latter I was getting ready to explode when Cindy, my lovely daughter, walked past the open door to my room; walked past, stopped in her tracts and backed up to scope things out.
"Did someone break in?" She asked as I sat on a mound of eclectic fabrics scattered over the bed and floor, with sheen of perspiration on my face giving me a soft glow and a unpleasant aroma wafting up from my underarms. “If they did you’d never be able to tell what they took!”
“I’ve been looking for a sweater I wanted to wear. I don’t know what closet I put it in.” I explained, exasperated after hours of relentless rummaging through closets, gym bags, laundry baskets, and under beds.
“Well, yeah, I can see you don’t have anything else to wear.” Cindy exclaimed flippantly.
“I-” I finished my sentence by simply staring at Cindy’s chest that was concealed in my sweater. She looked down with an awkward realization and slowly backed away focusing her eyes on mine trying to discern the depths of my anger, afraid to break contact for fear she’d miss an opportunity to escape.
Just before I lunged at her throat with my shaking hands, Cindy let out a horrified scream, but not out from worthy terror of me. She was focused on something over my shoulder. I spun about, lost my balance and fell into Cindy’s arms. There in the middle of the room some cloth had come to life. One of my jackets was levitating and moving forward. We stepped backwards.( there sure was a lot of back stepping going on today!) The jacket progressed forwards. Then it began a rapid succession of twists and gyrations sending garments everywhere that revealed a furry… slobbering ….growling…Scruffy! How long had he been asleep under all those clothes? I’m amazed he hadn’t been suffocated. Freed, Scruffy leapt across the pile of multipurpose carpeting into my legs begging for some loving while Cindy and I collapsed into gales of laughter.
“Give me my sweater,” I demanded once the humor generated by Scruffy departed and I waited as Cindy slipped it over her head and handed it to me draped over her arm as though I were the queen of England.
As she stood there in the hallway, with just a bra and jeans on, her dad rounded the corner, got an eyeful of embarrassment and retreated. Boy, like I said earlier, there sure was a lot of back stepping going on today! He had informed me months ago he wanted to stay ignorant of Cindy’s entrance into womanhood. She would always be a toddler to him and nothing I could say about her maturation would make him believe differently.
“Man, mom,” Cindy got out her cell phone and punched the calculator option, did some math and proceeded with,” You would have to change clothes four times a day in the summer and 3.75 days in the winter to wear all these clothes in one year!”
“So, maybe that has been my plan, dressing for each meal and snacks, I’m a messy eater.”
“And I just came back from a mission trip where one group of kids had to go home and give their brothers or sisters the clothes off their backs so they could come to the afternoon bible vacation school just to get some cookies and milk, which would be their only meal for the day.” Cindy proclaimed with an air of…self righteousness? Then she resumed her journey to her bedroom.
“Hmmm.” I rubbed my chin and started a chain of thoughts that swept me off my feet; I always lose my equilibrium when I think. That testimony hit a nerve. I had more than I could possible wear, definitely more than I needed. I walked from room to room. There were only three of us in this house. We had lots of space filled with unnecessary clutter. How many towels did we need? I laundered weekly. I remember buying everything in this house at one time or another and the most prevalent reason I bought them was self indulgence, and pride in my home, not to mention being able to show my friends I could afford some of this stuff. Stuff I had to dust, wash, and store. And storage was mostly where everything was, not on display. I really didn’t have that much of a social life, I didn’t cater parties nor have people over for dinner. No one visited from across country in need of a place to drop for the night. So why did I have so many blankets and sheets. We had heat, at least that’s what the electric bill implies. We each had a blanket, pillow and towels. We had enough dishes to feed an army regiment. Two sets of china, not to mention Christmas dishes, and a set of regular dishes. Let’s see, 32 plates for three people. Three people who seldom sat down together for a family meal. Thirty two plates for just three of us. When we did have company, we used china. China paper plates! (That’s a name brand of paper plates, so quit blinking, you read that right!)
I took off in my car and returned with boxes. Lots of boxes. I went diligently through closets. If I hadn’t worn something in a year (or two or three, yea, three was the limit), in to a box it went. I tried to stay firm with my resolve, even though it killed me to part with some exceptionally sentimental outfits. Sentimental because of the designer labels I was so proud of. Labels I made sure those in the pews behind me at church were able to see. Its mind boggling how often I was able to expose those labels! I didn’t have a problem with pride; I was perfectly comfortable being silently boastful. After all, I worked hard to afford good belongings. I convinced myself it would help people to get ambitious enough to get better jobs if they saw the name brand labels. I was helping the lazy and indigent desire to become worthy citizens. After all, wasn’t the size of one’s pocket book the criterion for success? So that’s how Cindy found me the next time she passed my room. Up to my waist in boxes.
“Wow, mom, I’m proud of you. You really listened to me this time!” She exclaimed after I filled her in on my plans.
“Well, you can be proud of yourself too, here are some boxes for your room. Fill them with your old toys and out grown clothes.”
“What! I don’t have anything to give away.” Suddenly her piety went south. Well I was also confident some of her junk was going south also. To Peru.
“You have a good start on a warehouse as big as mine, go pack a few boxes!” I declared. I was confident she’d out grown some toys and clothes that would give some poor kid a spiritual lift.
While Cindy was working I called our minister and got the number for our sister church in Peru where Cindy had just returned from last week. I managed to get a hold of the minister down there who listened to my plan with great awe. He thanked me more than I deserved. I had been selfish and stingy for too long to really appreciate his accolades. I just wanted to purge myself of all my possessions and return to a simple live that would still surpass the life of his parishioners. People with only one set of clothes that they shared with each other to go to church. Well now they would have some more sturdy garments shipped to them. Now that they could go to church as family units, they might have to expand the church building project!
The next morning, I took several boxes to the post office, after searching each of them to ascertain Scruffy hadn’t taken up residence in one while my back was turned, and shipped them to Peru. Man, I should have just sent money and let them buy clothes down there! Oh, right, they didn’t have any stores where these clothes were going. Then I made a trip to the homeless community under a nearby bridge and stacked several blankets on the ground, a good distance from the populace. I didn’t want my generosity to be the cause of my death. They looked like murderers and thieves. Sorry, I still stereo type, just because I’m trying to help doesn’t mean I’m not still skeptical! Hey, I’m only human. That’s more than I feel like some of the souls under the bridge were! Sorry God. Use me, but don’t make me talk to them! Those present stayed put. Don’t tell me I scared them. How dare they not trust me!
Then I took my dishes, towels, and Cindy’s things, which included unused makeup, shoes, books and stuffed animals that she had collected over the years from carnivals and ex-boyfriends, to the women’s shelter and donated them for women and their daughters getting rehabilitated for new lives away from abusive situations. It’s hard to set up house when you run out into the night with just the clothes on your back to avoid being beaten to death by an abusive partner. Partner. Partner means equal, companion, mate. What an inappropriate definition of some one that you can’t trust with your life. Well, maybe these dishes that gave me pleasure once, just buying them, will give some poor woman a sunny view on life. Like dishes can make up for all the suffering? I felt so contemptible. So unworthy to be called a daughter of God. I certainly didn’t feel like the women I spotted at the shelter could call me sister.
My minister was so stirred with my efforts he sent e-mails out to the congregation and my house cleaning experience became infectious as other members sorted out their garages and closets. Closets stuffed with boxes that hadn’t been opened in eons. Word spread further, to local churches and those in other states as members contacted families and shared their experiences. Then the media got involved. People who didn’t have faith in any deity at all got on the band wagon. (Yes, I know there is only one God, but not everyone has caught on to that yet) Not being “religious” didn’t equal being inhumane. Before the month was up women’s shelters, homeless agencies, rehab centers, mission groups and indigent people around the world were receiving blessings.
I was bowled over by the wild fire I had created. No, the credit goes to Cindy. Wrong again, the glory goes to God! Not to mention the blessing I received from a house clutter free. I could find things now. Apparently one person can make a difference if she’s contagious enough. I hope the Center for Disease Control doesn’t get wind of this illness and try to eradicate it! The barrenness of the rooms even produced faint echoes. This actually disturbed me but made my husband euphoric, he now had space to do things in, like spread out his elbows, expand his lungs and breathe. I had to get out of the house and get some air to think.
When Cindy came home from school she asked, ” Why is the car loaded down again? Where did you possibly find more stuff to give away? I thought we had reached rock bottom on ‘disposables’ ”.
“Oh Cindy!” I wailed and hid my face in my hands, alarming her
.
“Mom, what happened?” she cried encircling her arms around me, very concerned.
“It’s Friday.” I offered in the way of an explanation.
“So?” Cindy was completely clueless, and getting more alarmed.
“Cindy. Cindy. You poor innocent child. Friday is the day people with garage sales open for business. I passed by six sales today and found tons of stuff I need…wanted. What am I going to tell your dad?”
Scruffy, his alert ears hearing the front door open, scampered out of the room in search of a bomb shelter.
“Honey, I’m home!”
Proverbs 19:7
Prov. 21:13
1 Cor. 9:1-15
James 2:1-6James 2:15-17
Rev. 3:17
Friday, May 9, 2008
Daddy's Girl
Daddy’s Girl
I know it's around here somewhere. I've seen it before, I know I have it. A picture my mom took of me as a toddler with a black scarf on my head, playing dress up, shrouded in a ray of light that was coming in the window I was guarding. The soft light’s glow made me look so angelic, and from the stories my parents narrated to me frequently this must have been an aberrant day. I was standing there waiting for dad's car to pull into the drive so I could run out to greet him; as I've done so often throughout the years. Whenever I had a problem I'd call dad, cry my heart out and wait for him to rescue me. I was totally dependent on him. He never let me down; though there were times I still had to bear the consequences of my bad choices; in men, in purchases, in friends, in judgments. Waiting for dad. When I broke up with a boyfriend, when one of my children misbehaved, when I got fired. When life got in the way of my having a grand ole time. He was always there to pick up the pieces, and rearrange them into something healthy.
There were also times I hid from dad. When I was skipping out to see a boy after curfew, a big no-no. Or when I was hanging out with the wrong crowd on the school grounds, I would lower my head, letting my hair cover my face so he wouldn't recognize me. (a ploy I discovered latter didn't work!) When I stopped going to church, (for a short time) I wouldn't answer his calls on Sunday, so I wouldn't be found guilty. I was so smothered in self guilt I returned to the regular attendance I was brought up on. Better that than hiding in the dark every Sunday morning afraid of being caught!
When my ex-husband, who dad warned would do me wrong, vanished, (not as a result of alien invasions), dad was there (of course). Abandoned with two small kids way out in the country, dad came and got me, loaded up my things and took me home. Home. I was always welcome at home. Dad stood by me holding a hammer over my head when my errant hubby begged for my forgiveness. If I went back to that loser I'd be knocked unconscious and kept locked up in the basement till the divorce was final, then shipped to another country! This was one time I was given no free choice. I'd asked for his help and darn it all, he would make me take it.
Over time my friends heckled me for being such a daddy's girl. They insisted to mature on my own I needed some slack, some freedom from dad. He didn't need to know all my activities. They didn't have a close relationship with their dads, and I pitied them for that. It was healthier to grow up independently, they insisted. Occasionally I listened to them only to live to regret it, as in the case of the doomed marriage that had come with heavily ignored admonitions.
The reason I even remembered the missing picture I was hunting for was in my hands right now. A similar photographic memory I captured on film of my beloved Tessie, paws on the window sill, eagerly awaiting her “daddy”, my present husband, to come home. She was aware he was outside; her sharp ears having heard the truck pull in and park. She knew the difference between the neighbor’s vehicles and those of her owner's car. Amazing. She eagerly and patiently waited for her human daddy, every evening, and she couldn’t be fooled by an imposter. No way, no how.
I gave up looking for the coveted picture. It was lost somewhere by my magnificent organizational skills. I went to the window to wait expectantly for dad again. Recent problems were getting me down. The world situation; famine, earthquakes, tsunamis, (I didn't know what those were till a few years ago), wars hither and thither, drive bys; the list is an abyss of gloom, sucking me into a bottomless pit of despair. I called dad up earlier and we had a nice long chat ending with a promise that he'd come take me out for a nice dinner as soon as he could.
I didn't see a sign of him anywhere. Cars passed the house, neighbors got their mail, kids got off school buses, couples pushed strollers down the street, but no sign of dad. The radio on the counter announced some marriages taking place in high society, and then covered some deaths of affluent business men. The world was going on as was it’s well established custom. The sun was shining splendidly in the sky, flowers were blooming, bees were buzzing, birds were singing. Business as usual.
I turned my back on the day's routine taking place outside to start dinner. It didn’t look like dad would be coming today. Tessie whimpered, tail wagging, slowly, faster, fastest. Her "daddy" came in the front door and hefted her into his arms. I stopped wasting time waiting for mine, when a loud crack of thunder erupted, vibrating the entire house. Hurrying back to the window I was amazed at the dark clouds that had formed above in the split second I had been gone. This had not been broadcasted on the evening news. Lightening charged the air, rain descended, hail skipped on the ground, thunder bellowed again...Loud music broke forth from somewhere, louder than the din of the rainstorm. Someone was blowing reverie on their trumpet! Then there was dad, just as he promised. He in no way ever broke a promise and here he was to confirm his reliability. He came to make things better for me, just as he'd said he would in our last conversation, moments ago. He came down on a cloud never touching the earth opening his arms up for my husband and me. I just blinked once and my eyes opened to a new reality. I was finally weightless; no scales would call my heavy again! Way, way up yonder we went, along with the rest of my family, brothers and sisters all. Equal in dad’s eyes. No favorites. Some I'd met before, the others I'd have an eternity to get to know.
My days of waiting for dad are finally over. I'm home again, for the last time, for all time. Safe and secure in my father's arms. In my father's home. Sitting at my father’s table eating to my heart’s content. Tessie, who my husband had fiercely clung too when the trumpet sounded, was running around under the table with other pets, (was that a raccoon?), looking for table scraps from their owners, and licking sandaled feet. All dogs do go to heaven.
Math. 24:36
John 10:3-27
1 Thes 4:16
I know it's around here somewhere. I've seen it before, I know I have it. A picture my mom took of me as a toddler with a black scarf on my head, playing dress up, shrouded in a ray of light that was coming in the window I was guarding. The soft light’s glow made me look so angelic, and from the stories my parents narrated to me frequently this must have been an aberrant day. I was standing there waiting for dad's car to pull into the drive so I could run out to greet him; as I've done so often throughout the years. Whenever I had a problem I'd call dad, cry my heart out and wait for him to rescue me. I was totally dependent on him. He never let me down; though there were times I still had to bear the consequences of my bad choices; in men, in purchases, in friends, in judgments. Waiting for dad. When I broke up with a boyfriend, when one of my children misbehaved, when I got fired. When life got in the way of my having a grand ole time. He was always there to pick up the pieces, and rearrange them into something healthy.
There were also times I hid from dad. When I was skipping out to see a boy after curfew, a big no-no. Or when I was hanging out with the wrong crowd on the school grounds, I would lower my head, letting my hair cover my face so he wouldn't recognize me. (a ploy I discovered latter didn't work!) When I stopped going to church, (for a short time) I wouldn't answer his calls on Sunday, so I wouldn't be found guilty. I was so smothered in self guilt I returned to the regular attendance I was brought up on. Better that than hiding in the dark every Sunday morning afraid of being caught!
When my ex-husband, who dad warned would do me wrong, vanished, (not as a result of alien invasions), dad was there (of course). Abandoned with two small kids way out in the country, dad came and got me, loaded up my things and took me home. Home. I was always welcome at home. Dad stood by me holding a hammer over my head when my errant hubby begged for my forgiveness. If I went back to that loser I'd be knocked unconscious and kept locked up in the basement till the divorce was final, then shipped to another country! This was one time I was given no free choice. I'd asked for his help and darn it all, he would make me take it.
Over time my friends heckled me for being such a daddy's girl. They insisted to mature on my own I needed some slack, some freedom from dad. He didn't need to know all my activities. They didn't have a close relationship with their dads, and I pitied them for that. It was healthier to grow up independently, they insisted. Occasionally I listened to them only to live to regret it, as in the case of the doomed marriage that had come with heavily ignored admonitions.
The reason I even remembered the missing picture I was hunting for was in my hands right now. A similar photographic memory I captured on film of my beloved Tessie, paws on the window sill, eagerly awaiting her “daddy”, my present husband, to come home. She was aware he was outside; her sharp ears having heard the truck pull in and park. She knew the difference between the neighbor’s vehicles and those of her owner's car. Amazing. She eagerly and patiently waited for her human daddy, every evening, and she couldn’t be fooled by an imposter. No way, no how.
I gave up looking for the coveted picture. It was lost somewhere by my magnificent organizational skills. I went to the window to wait expectantly for dad again. Recent problems were getting me down. The world situation; famine, earthquakes, tsunamis, (I didn't know what those were till a few years ago), wars hither and thither, drive bys; the list is an abyss of gloom, sucking me into a bottomless pit of despair. I called dad up earlier and we had a nice long chat ending with a promise that he'd come take me out for a nice dinner as soon as he could.
I didn't see a sign of him anywhere. Cars passed the house, neighbors got their mail, kids got off school buses, couples pushed strollers down the street, but no sign of dad. The radio on the counter announced some marriages taking place in high society, and then covered some deaths of affluent business men. The world was going on as was it’s well established custom. The sun was shining splendidly in the sky, flowers were blooming, bees were buzzing, birds were singing. Business as usual.
I turned my back on the day's routine taking place outside to start dinner. It didn’t look like dad would be coming today. Tessie whimpered, tail wagging, slowly, faster, fastest. Her "daddy" came in the front door and hefted her into his arms. I stopped wasting time waiting for mine, when a loud crack of thunder erupted, vibrating the entire house. Hurrying back to the window I was amazed at the dark clouds that had formed above in the split second I had been gone. This had not been broadcasted on the evening news. Lightening charged the air, rain descended, hail skipped on the ground, thunder bellowed again...Loud music broke forth from somewhere, louder than the din of the rainstorm. Someone was blowing reverie on their trumpet! Then there was dad, just as he promised. He in no way ever broke a promise and here he was to confirm his reliability. He came to make things better for me, just as he'd said he would in our last conversation, moments ago. He came down on a cloud never touching the earth opening his arms up for my husband and me. I just blinked once and my eyes opened to a new reality. I was finally weightless; no scales would call my heavy again! Way, way up yonder we went, along with the rest of my family, brothers and sisters all. Equal in dad’s eyes. No favorites. Some I'd met before, the others I'd have an eternity to get to know.
My days of waiting for dad are finally over. I'm home again, for the last time, for all time. Safe and secure in my father's arms. In my father's home. Sitting at my father’s table eating to my heart’s content. Tessie, who my husband had fiercely clung too when the trumpet sounded, was running around under the table with other pets, (was that a raccoon?), looking for table scraps from their owners, and licking sandaled feet. All dogs do go to heaven.
Math. 24:36
John 10:3-27
1 Thes 4:16
Tuesday, May 6, 2008
Kicked Out
I was going to be later than usual getting to church tonight. And I had no good reason, I lolly gagged around the house doing nothing but piddling. In the past I've tended to get to evening services too early and got bored waiting to get started. I'm not much of a socializer sometimes and tonight was one of them.
At church I parked in a visitor's slot. I've been told time and again this is for visitor's, to please park in regular parking spaces. My response to the parking lot monitors; "Hey, this makes it look like we really have visitors !" I think the "monitors" turn their backs and pray for my spirit of rebellion to depart. Hey, the parking spaces are closer to the door and I don't care much for exercise.
Tonight was exceptionally windy and as I rushed to the entrance I could have sworn I heard someone say, "Lord, please help me!" It was then I detected the woman crossing the parking lot towards the main doors. I thought she was complaining about the strong "breeze" that was capable of tossing her slight frame to the Land of Oz.
"What did you say?" I asked as she got nearer, expecting some mild complaint about the gusts of wind whipping her hair into her face.
“Oh great you heard me! Let me tell you what just happened. I got kicked out of my house and need thirty three dollars to get a bus to Austin."
"What do you mean you got kicked out of your house?" I asked, aghast that someone would be kicked out on a night like this that promised to be a very wet night.
This question began a story detailing how “Woman” caught her brother in law and his wife stealing from a local business forcing her to turn them in to the police. Of course this angered her mother in law, whose house Woman and her husband lived in with the rest of his family (before they got hauled off to the slammer). Once the mother in law discovered who was responsible for her precious, thieving son being incarcerated Woman was asked to leave the house, with nothing but her purse, which held a cell phone, and the clothes on her back. No support was offered by her whimpy husband so his mother allowed him to stay.
Since I was late to church, the parking lot remained empty throughout Woman’s entire dissertation. I kept praying for witnesses to arrive so I would have someone to collaborate with. Someone who would talk reason to me, preventing me from doing what I was beginning to fear was the inevitable.
Woman kept emphasizing her plan. Get on a bus and head to her daughter’s who she couldn’t contact to wire her money as she didn’t have a phone. This I found hard to believe as I know homeless who have cells, and a post office box to receive their bills!
“How much do you need?” I queried, leery of my reaction. I was known to be impulsive, something I was trying to find a twelve step program for.
“Thirty three dollars, but I already have eleven. It will cost me seventy five cents to catch the local bus to get to the bus station down town.”
I opened my wallet and counted out the difference she was lacking, “Here, let me drive you to the bus station.”
“Oh, no, it’ll be easier to catch the transit. Down town is much to busy.”
“Well, here is a dollar for that. But I insist on driving you to the bus stop."
“But you’ll miss church.” she protested.
“Oh well.”
I led her to my PT Cruiser questioning myself now. What if she had a gun in her purse, what if there was an accomplice nearby? Her story seemed believable. I didn’t smell alcohol on her and she didn’t seem high on drugs.
The transit bus stop was about two miles away with no shelter or bench at the pickup site. I thought this was peculiar. Most of the other bus stops had canopies and seating accommodations. This was a legitimate pick up though. But look, there just happened to be a store handy where Woman informed me she could wait at, since the weather looked nasty. I realized we were now not in a dry area of town, (liquor could be sold and bought here) and I resumed my qualms of Woman possibly purchasing fermented beverages with my donations was I was out of sight.
After I deposited Woman, with the spare Gideon Bible I carry in the glove compartment for reading material as she waited, I drove off I berating myself for my foolishness, yet thankful I hadn't been led blindly to my death by a carefully planned mugging. I imagined her heartily laughing at her profits. It took her 30 minutes to gain twenty three dollars, that's forty six dollars an hour. She gets a better salary than I do. She was probably calling someone now to come pick her up and help her drink her "bus ticket".
I had pretty much missed church so I went on home, telling myself it was in God's hands now. I tried to convince myself I’d only done what God would have expected.
The next morning at the woman's bible study I casually mentioned seeing Woman in the parking lot. Several of the attendees informed me that she was a regular. Woman had a different story every time but it always boiled down to needing some extra cash. She was always offered help by the benevolence committee but refused to fill out the necessary forms. The church wouldn't present her with money, but with coupons for groceries or utilities, that way they controlled fraudulent claims. Pretty sophisticated approach, maybe I should have followed their lead.. Maybe I should have been slower to react even though I felt prompted my God. I I kept my foolishness to myself. I removed a compact from my make up bag to cover the "Sucker" sign tattooed on my forehead. I was amazed it wasn't as bold as I'd imagined. No way was I going to let my friends know how I'd been duped. I'm known for being pretty cheap ( I prefer to call it retirement minded) so I couldn't face the inevitable ribbing I'd get. Why didn't I stay to see what Woman was up to when I left? Because I'm not a private eye, that’s why. I watch enough action/drama TV I should have gotten some spying skills by osmosis. Back to rationalization; I could afford the twenty three dollar lesson I learned. At least it wouldn't send me to the poor house. The only thing that would keep me from feeling like a looser right now was...chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate.
Fast forward a few weeks and some extra pounds (the result of lots and lots of chocolate) and I'm getting on the computer to check my email. Hey, there's a message from a Christian chat room friend I haven't heard from in some time. I scanned the missive and dropped my candy bar. This message required more than a cursory scan; I had to read each word one at a time. Great. My added weight had been unnecessary. It seems my friend had been too busy to correspond with me in a while because her mother had showed up unexpectedly. Her mother's mother in law had evicted her and some wonderful lady (that my friend referred to as better than a good Samaritan), had contributed to the "send mom home" fund. Elaine was ecstatic with gratitude.
She had lost contact with her mother when she had remarried some low life that no one in the family had approve of. Apparently mom didn't make healthy choices and was ashamed to ask for help from her kids. The stranger that had provided the necessary funds for her to make it home, had also provided a bible for reading, something her mom had had plenty of time to accomplish on the bus that made frequent stops, and where she had decided to turn her life over to the only one who truly cared enough to die for her. Her mother was now getting counseling and rehabilitation through an abused women's project in town keeping Elaine on the road a lot between appointments. On the road in ...Austin.
Elaine was so glad she had devoted her spare time to praying for her mother's welfare, especially a few weeks ago when some unknown sensation had caused her to increase her prayerful efforts. I looked at the candy bar at my feet, now being licked by my cat. In a feeding frenzy this wouldn't have deterred me, I'd have picked it up, rinsed it, and resumed where I left off; but now my desire for chocolate induced anesthesia was gone. I dusted off the nearby treadmill and went to work evaporating the results of my favorite comfort food.
Oh, and the next day I met a woman in the parking lot at church begging for money, not the same one that I had aided. I entered the worship auditorium praising God for causing me to be late to church one night making me available to help a woman in need.
At church I parked in a visitor's slot. I've been told time and again this is for visitor's, to please park in regular parking spaces. My response to the parking lot monitors; "Hey, this makes it look like we really have visitors !" I think the "monitors" turn their backs and pray for my spirit of rebellion to depart. Hey, the parking spaces are closer to the door and I don't care much for exercise.
Tonight was exceptionally windy and as I rushed to the entrance I could have sworn I heard someone say, "Lord, please help me!" It was then I detected the woman crossing the parking lot towards the main doors. I thought she was complaining about the strong "breeze" that was capable of tossing her slight frame to the Land of Oz.
"What did you say?" I asked as she got nearer, expecting some mild complaint about the gusts of wind whipping her hair into her face.
“Oh great you heard me! Let me tell you what just happened. I got kicked out of my house and need thirty three dollars to get a bus to Austin."
"What do you mean you got kicked out of your house?" I asked, aghast that someone would be kicked out on a night like this that promised to be a very wet night.
This question began a story detailing how “Woman” caught her brother in law and his wife stealing from a local business forcing her to turn them in to the police. Of course this angered her mother in law, whose house Woman and her husband lived in with the rest of his family (before they got hauled off to the slammer). Once the mother in law discovered who was responsible for her precious, thieving son being incarcerated Woman was asked to leave the house, with nothing but her purse, which held a cell phone, and the clothes on her back. No support was offered by her whimpy husband so his mother allowed him to stay.
Since I was late to church, the parking lot remained empty throughout Woman’s entire dissertation. I kept praying for witnesses to arrive so I would have someone to collaborate with. Someone who would talk reason to me, preventing me from doing what I was beginning to fear was the inevitable.
Woman kept emphasizing her plan. Get on a bus and head to her daughter’s who she couldn’t contact to wire her money as she didn’t have a phone. This I found hard to believe as I know homeless who have cells, and a post office box to receive their bills!
“How much do you need?” I queried, leery of my reaction. I was known to be impulsive, something I was trying to find a twelve step program for.
“Thirty three dollars, but I already have eleven. It will cost me seventy five cents to catch the local bus to get to the bus station down town.”
I opened my wallet and counted out the difference she was lacking, “Here, let me drive you to the bus station.”
“Oh, no, it’ll be easier to catch the transit. Down town is much to busy.”
“Well, here is a dollar for that. But I insist on driving you to the bus stop."
“But you’ll miss church.” she protested.
“Oh well.”
I led her to my PT Cruiser questioning myself now. What if she had a gun in her purse, what if there was an accomplice nearby? Her story seemed believable. I didn’t smell alcohol on her and she didn’t seem high on drugs.
The transit bus stop was about two miles away with no shelter or bench at the pickup site. I thought this was peculiar. Most of the other bus stops had canopies and seating accommodations. This was a legitimate pick up though. But look, there just happened to be a store handy where Woman informed me she could wait at, since the weather looked nasty. I realized we were now not in a dry area of town, (liquor could be sold and bought here) and I resumed my qualms of Woman possibly purchasing fermented beverages with my donations was I was out of sight.
After I deposited Woman, with the spare Gideon Bible I carry in the glove compartment for reading material as she waited, I drove off I berating myself for my foolishness, yet thankful I hadn't been led blindly to my death by a carefully planned mugging. I imagined her heartily laughing at her profits. It took her 30 minutes to gain twenty three dollars, that's forty six dollars an hour. She gets a better salary than I do. She was probably calling someone now to come pick her up and help her drink her "bus ticket".
I had pretty much missed church so I went on home, telling myself it was in God's hands now. I tried to convince myself I’d only done what God would have expected.
The next morning at the woman's bible study I casually mentioned seeing Woman in the parking lot. Several of the attendees informed me that she was a regular. Woman had a different story every time but it always boiled down to needing some extra cash. She was always offered help by the benevolence committee but refused to fill out the necessary forms. The church wouldn't present her with money, but with coupons for groceries or utilities, that way they controlled fraudulent claims. Pretty sophisticated approach, maybe I should have followed their lead.. Maybe I should have been slower to react even though I felt prompted my God. I I kept my foolishness to myself. I removed a compact from my make up bag to cover the "Sucker" sign tattooed on my forehead. I was amazed it wasn't as bold as I'd imagined. No way was I going to let my friends know how I'd been duped. I'm known for being pretty cheap ( I prefer to call it retirement minded) so I couldn't face the inevitable ribbing I'd get. Why didn't I stay to see what Woman was up to when I left? Because I'm not a private eye, that’s why. I watch enough action/drama TV I should have gotten some spying skills by osmosis. Back to rationalization; I could afford the twenty three dollar lesson I learned. At least it wouldn't send me to the poor house. The only thing that would keep me from feeling like a looser right now was...chocolate, lots and lots of chocolate.
Fast forward a few weeks and some extra pounds (the result of lots and lots of chocolate) and I'm getting on the computer to check my email. Hey, there's a message from a Christian chat room friend I haven't heard from in some time. I scanned the missive and dropped my candy bar. This message required more than a cursory scan; I had to read each word one at a time. Great. My added weight had been unnecessary. It seems my friend had been too busy to correspond with me in a while because her mother had showed up unexpectedly. Her mother's mother in law had evicted her and some wonderful lady (that my friend referred to as better than a good Samaritan), had contributed to the "send mom home" fund. Elaine was ecstatic with gratitude.
She had lost contact with her mother when she had remarried some low life that no one in the family had approve of. Apparently mom didn't make healthy choices and was ashamed to ask for help from her kids. The stranger that had provided the necessary funds for her to make it home, had also provided a bible for reading, something her mom had had plenty of time to accomplish on the bus that made frequent stops, and where she had decided to turn her life over to the only one who truly cared enough to die for her. Her mother was now getting counseling and rehabilitation through an abused women's project in town keeping Elaine on the road a lot between appointments. On the road in ...Austin.
Elaine was so glad she had devoted her spare time to praying for her mother's welfare, especially a few weeks ago when some unknown sensation had caused her to increase her prayerful efforts. I looked at the candy bar at my feet, now being licked by my cat. In a feeding frenzy this wouldn't have deterred me, I'd have picked it up, rinsed it, and resumed where I left off; but now my desire for chocolate induced anesthesia was gone. I dusted off the nearby treadmill and went to work evaporating the results of my favorite comfort food.
Oh, and the next day I met a woman in the parking lot at church begging for money, not the same one that I had aided. I entered the worship auditorium praising God for causing me to be late to church one night making me available to help a woman in need.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)