family
I wrote this post several weeks ago and never published it. For some reason, I feel like it needs to be read. For me, for you, for those people at their last resort...
I don't believe things happen for a reason. I think I used to, but not anymore. I've seen too much to think this is true. We are in control of our lives. Sometimes our maker intervenes. Sometimes, he doesn't. Things happen. Some by chance, some by a million little traces of life leading to one another. Some, for a reason. But not everything. Because if everything happens for a reason, that means everything. Shitty things. Tragic things. Unthinkable things. And I just can't believe that.
Saturday night, we went out for Mexican food to celebrate me getting a job. Addie did okay at dinner, but Ingrid was not having it. She never, I mean NEVER gets upset, but she cried so hard before we got our food. I nursed her and tried to calm her down. Phil snuggled her in one hand as he fed himself beef tongue tacos with the other. We didn't get to order dessert. Instead, we ate as fast as we could and drove home to put her to bed. The poor thing was over-tired.
On our way home, we got stuck at a light by an exit ramp. There was a girl standing there holding a sign, asking for money or food or something. On the other side of the highway, was her mom (I'm guessing). This woman was about 5 feet from my window. First, I have to tell you that I see people asking for money like this a lot. I'd guess about 3 or 4 times a month. Most of the time I look away and ignore, sometimes I smile, but never do I give. I have been told silly things like "they make more money doing that than having a real job" or "you're just contributing to their problem." Laughable, those things are now.
Anyway, this woman. It was something I have never seen. Something I can't get out of my mind. She was crying, and trying to hide her tears from me. She was ashamed. I have never seen anyone with that look on their face. The light turned green and Phil kept driving home. He was focused on the road and on the tired, cranky girls in the backseat. He didn't notice the women or my sudden change of face. I started crying, like really crying. My mind was racing. What could we do? What could be done? I had eight dollars in cash. I had no leftovers to give. The only food I had was frozen chicken breasts and uncooked rice or noodles. Eight dollars. Maybe eight dollars could help. Maybe.
Anyway, both girls were ready for bed so Phil took them in and started their nightly routine. I grabbed my eight dollars and the car keys and headed back to that stoplight. I had to drive past the intersection and get on the highway headed the opposite way so I'd be on the right side of the street, close to the woman. As I looked down the road, I could see the her still standing there. I was driving fast so I wouldn't miss her. The entire time I was praying. Praying for this woman that she wouldn't feel shame. Praying that eight dollars could help in some way. Praying that this wasn't about me doing something good, but about doing something right. Praying that I would not be so ridiculous to actually have thoughts like this lady is pulling some stunt or I'm only contributing to her addiction problem.
Literally 90 seconds later after getting on the highway, then off again I got to the intersection. She was no where to be found. No where. I looked down both sides of the streets. I drove past the gas station. I drove the other direction, toward restaurants. No where.
I couldn't believe it. I haven't felt such a strong feeling to go and do like that in a very long time. Years, maybe. I mean, I was hurrying. I was sucked in. I was determined to give her my eight dollars. The feelings and tears came without warning. Even my prayers came involuntary.
Maybe Ingrid cried at the restaurant so we'd leave in a hurry so we'd see this woman so I'd do something about it. Or maybe it was all just a chain of random events on a Saturday night. In the end, she was gone and I didn't do a thing to help her. What I do know, is that people are hurting. People are needy. And those people, no matter how many mistakes or wrong turns they made need a second chance. And yeah, there are probably a handful of people who beg for money like a full-time job. And there are probably even more people who use the cash gifts of others to buy drugs or alcohol. But more often than not, it's probably a person who is desperate, who is ashamed, whose last resort is standing at an exit, begging for change with tears in their eyes.
-L
I don't believe things happen for a reason. I think I used to, but not anymore. I've seen too much to think this is true. We are in control of our lives. Sometimes our maker intervenes. Sometimes, he doesn't. Things happen. Some by chance, some by a million little traces of life leading to one another. Some, for a reason. But not everything. Because if everything happens for a reason, that means everything. Shitty things. Tragic things. Unthinkable things. And I just can't believe that.
Saturday night, we went out for Mexican food to celebrate me getting a job. Addie did okay at dinner, but Ingrid was not having it. She never, I mean NEVER gets upset, but she cried so hard before we got our food. I nursed her and tried to calm her down. Phil snuggled her in one hand as he fed himself beef tongue tacos with the other. We didn't get to order dessert. Instead, we ate as fast as we could and drove home to put her to bed. The poor thing was over-tired.
On our way home, we got stuck at a light by an exit ramp. There was a girl standing there holding a sign, asking for money or food or something. On the other side of the highway, was her mom (I'm guessing). This woman was about 5 feet from my window. First, I have to tell you that I see people asking for money like this a lot. I'd guess about 3 or 4 times a month. Most of the time I look away and ignore, sometimes I smile, but never do I give. I have been told silly things like "they make more money doing that than having a real job" or "you're just contributing to their problem." Laughable, those things are now.
Anyway, this woman. It was something I have never seen. Something I can't get out of my mind. She was crying, and trying to hide her tears from me. She was ashamed. I have never seen anyone with that look on their face. The light turned green and Phil kept driving home. He was focused on the road and on the tired, cranky girls in the backseat. He didn't notice the women or my sudden change of face. I started crying, like really crying. My mind was racing. What could we do? What could be done? I had eight dollars in cash. I had no leftovers to give. The only food I had was frozen chicken breasts and uncooked rice or noodles. Eight dollars. Maybe eight dollars could help. Maybe.
Anyway, both girls were ready for bed so Phil took them in and started their nightly routine. I grabbed my eight dollars and the car keys and headed back to that stoplight. I had to drive past the intersection and get on the highway headed the opposite way so I'd be on the right side of the street, close to the woman. As I looked down the road, I could see the her still standing there. I was driving fast so I wouldn't miss her. The entire time I was praying. Praying for this woman that she wouldn't feel shame. Praying that eight dollars could help in some way. Praying that this wasn't about me doing something good, but about doing something right. Praying that I would not be so ridiculous to actually have thoughts like this lady is pulling some stunt or I'm only contributing to her addiction problem.
Literally 90 seconds later after getting on the highway, then off again I got to the intersection. She was no where to be found. No where. I looked down both sides of the streets. I drove past the gas station. I drove the other direction, toward restaurants. No where.
I couldn't believe it. I haven't felt such a strong feeling to go and do like that in a very long time. Years, maybe. I mean, I was hurrying. I was sucked in. I was determined to give her my eight dollars. The feelings and tears came without warning. Even my prayers came involuntary.
Maybe Ingrid cried at the restaurant so we'd leave in a hurry so we'd see this woman so I'd do something about it. Or maybe it was all just a chain of random events on a Saturday night. In the end, she was gone and I didn't do a thing to help her. What I do know, is that people are hurting. People are needy. And those people, no matter how many mistakes or wrong turns they made need a second chance. And yeah, there are probably a handful of people who beg for money like a full-time job. And there are probably even more people who use the cash gifts of others to buy drugs or alcohol. But more often than not, it's probably a person who is desperate, who is ashamed, whose last resort is standing at an exit, begging for change with tears in their eyes.
-L
