20/20

In hindsight, I could kick myself.  In fact, upon chatting with my old friend, I asked him to go ahead and kick me now.  Sigh.  Why is hindsight so vivid?  And why could I not have had it to begin with?

There’s a fine line between being a busybody and a concerned soul. The trick is knowing which side of that line to cross.

A discerning heart and spirit are required to be effective soldiers in the army of God.  And also, a willing attitude is crucial if one is to be successful in warring against the flesh.  

Here’s what went on in summation.  Many months ago I attended the visitation of a young man who died because of a drug overdose.  While waiting in the lobby to go into the receiving line--which I really dreaded because I did not personally know this fella and was only there to pay my respects to his grandmother--a former neighbor of mine came in.  After the initial greetings and small talk, we got a little more personal.  She told me of some of her regrets about not living in our ’hood anymore and there was...something. Something more than just the wistful reminisces about simpler times. Something more than the way her eyes clouded up as she began to explain how her life was before...before...before him.

Looking back, I wish I had asked.  Wish I had skipped the receiving line and asked her if she’d like to go sit and chat further.  Wish I had followed up with her because yes, I do have a discerning spirit often but...but this woman was not a friend of mine.  Former neighbor, sure, but our paths rarely crossed.  I knew her child to an extent but really:  I had no clues about this lady and who she was.  And sure, we had some mutual acquaintances that we conversed about.  But really, what business of mine was it to delve deeper and become potentially involved in something that didn’t concern me?  After all, I was already in an uncomfortable spot, trying to figure out what words of sympathy I could offer to my friend about the tragedy she was going through.  If I reached out to this woman with more than the casual hug we had exchanged, what might I be opening myself up to?  Maybe I was just being overdramatic.  Right? Maybe that look in her eye was just the sorrow for the young man lying inside. Besides, if she needed me, she knew where I lived.  I wasn't the one who moved. Right?

So, about that kick.  I’ll bet you’d like to give me one too about now, huh?

To wrap this story up, it turns out that that woman, that lady, that neighbor was indeed in a mess.  Her life was more troubled than the world knew because she had to keep up appearances.  Her soul was tortured on a daily basis and she literally had to flee for her life, for her sanity, for her self.  

What if I had taken just a little more time with her those months ago?  Could I have made a difference?  Would her circumstances have had a happier ending?  Or would I just have been labeled as a nosy bat, someone whose nose would be better placed anywhere other than in her business?  

I won’t know those answers.  My bifocals don’t allow me to go back in time and change those moments when something is off but I wasn’t in tune enough to hear the sad melody being played.  

Sigh.

Let’s pray.

Dear Lord, my soul is troubled.  My heart is aching in places that I didn’t even realize were active for this woman who has been and is still going through so much tragedy.  

Is it too late, Lord?  Is it too late to extend my offer of help?  To let my arms reach out, to lend her my ears, to cry with her through eyes that were blinded?  

Jesus, You went to Mary and Martha after the loss of their brother.  Not before but after.  The comfort You gave to them; the hearing of their words of reprimand and sorrow as they mourned the loss of Lazarus; and the recriminations of if had You been there things would have been different rang loudly.  The difference is Lord, they sent for You.  This woman has not asked for me but...but maybe she doesn’t know how.  Maybe she is too alone in her grief or perhaps she has others to assist her?  I don’t know and I won’t until I ask.  Will You help me to be You to her?  To offer comfort, to let her pain out, to be her friend?  

I don’t even know if I should try, Lord!  If the situations were reversed, how would I feel about someone like me intruding in my time of sorrow?  Would I welcome it or would I shun it?  Oh Father!  This is so hard!  Meddler or helper?  Busybody or somebody:  somebody who knows what it’s like to hurt, to be victimized, to be considered as the bad one?  Sigh.  

I lift my eyes to You, Lord.  Help me, please, in the name of Christ I pray.  Amen.

Letters From Home (less)

A little while back--after feeling frustrated each time some homeless soul asked for our help and us not having anything handy to give--Steve and I prepared some “homeless bags” so that we’d be prepared for the next time.  We filled ziploc bags with goodies, cleaning things, one little Bible verse card, and thought we were ready.  However, the more we thought about it, the more things we would add:  a pair of socks, a little bit of cash and four quarters, band aids, and--one of my personal favorites--one of those little tea lights that are battery operated.  After all, the double entendre was too good to pass up:  light for dark nights and for us shining light on our fellow man.  Ooh, yes, go ahead and pat us on the backs the next time that you see us.  We are just such good Christian folks.

{Pardon me while I choke}

As the bags sat on our table, ready to be dispersed, I had one last idea to really make the bags complete.  “Let’s put a stamped post card and pen in there.  That way, should they so desire, they can send their loved ones a note letting them know how they are.”  Brilliant, if I do say so myself.  

Anyways, this blog could go lots of ways but I want to hear from you today.  I know a lot of my readers are also writers so I want to give you all the opportunity to let your creative juices flow today.  Here’s your assignment:  imagine you are the homeless soul.  You are sitting there as you chew on your raisins and wondering just what kind of person puts a postcard--a postcard of all things!!--in a bag like this.  As you wash away your food with the last drag of water, you continue to ponder this card.  It’s already stamped and nothing on it will give away your whereabouts except the postmark.  That is, if you even use it.  

You roll the pen between your fingers.  Your mind is already thinking whom you’d like to send a note to.  That soul’s address is imprinted on your brain.  Do you dare?  What would you say?  There’s only room for a few lines.  

Taking a deep breath, you sigh.  The decision has been made.  Consider your words carefully, for again, there’s only space for a few of them.  Breathe.

“Okay,” you decide, and pick up the pen.  "Here goes."

Now, Wandering Through The Bible readers, write.  You can send them privately if you like but I think it will be quite interesting to see what you all come up with.   Ready?  Put yourself in place of the homeless one.  Who would you write to?  How much information would you include?  What would you say?  I can’t wait to read you today!

How You Doin'?

If you’re an avid television watcher, you probably have watched several episodes of “Friends.”  Between Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Phoebe, and the oh-so-lovable Joey, many of us would spend our Thursday evenings with this group and imagine that we too had a special affinity with our own circle of peeps.

One of the most quoted lines from “Friends” would have to be Joey’s “How you doin’?”  These words would be uttered to women he found attractive and wanted to get to know better.  Usually they were combined with an interested smile and twinkle in Joey’s eyes.  The effect could be devastating or disastrous, depending on what the writers of the show were striving for in that episode.

Yesterday, I met my own Joey.  Sort of.  Okay, he really wasn’t anything like Joey except for his concern for his fellow man.  As our buggies met in the crafting aisle at Walmart, he immediately caught my attention.  Talk about a cutie!  Of course I had to initiate a conversation and I’ll summarize it here (otherwise this blog would get too wordy and we wouldn’t want that to happen, now would we?).

“Hello!  You sure are cute” I said.  “Are you getting that so you can paint some rocks?”  

He responded and then he asked me how I was.  I told him I was a little sleepy after having had lunch just a bit ago and wondered if he liked to take naps too.  Oh, now before your minds start going places they shouldn’t, let me clarify something:  this handsome fella was all of eighteen.  Months, that is.  Ha ha!  Got you!  Shame on you for thinking such illicit thoughts!

Anyway, as is customary for us Southerners, I returned his question to him and asked him how he was?  His response?  “I’m doin’.”

I’m doin’?!

What kind of response was that?  I wondered.  I pondered.  And then I appreciated.  After all, there was no pretense there.  No social niceties of saying that of course, I’m fine, while internally lying and hoping no one notices the falseness of the reply.  No whining, either, about how awful his life was, how his parents wouldn’t buy him this, nor that he felt like that.  Just two simple words:  I’m doin’.

He taught me a lesson.  Keep it simple.  Stick to the facts.  When someone asks about you and you don’t want to lie, don’t want attention, and don’t want pity, just use these words.  Because, quite frankly, sometimes that’s all that we are really capable of, isn’t it?  To just do.  To just be.  To just keep putting one foot in front of the other.  To stand when we are at our wits’ ends but still believing that somehow, somewhere, Someone is not going to let us fall.  

Thank You, Lord, for kids.  Thank You for simple truths that have such profound effects on my daily walk.  Thank You for keeping me upright and fixed when my eyes stay on You.  I’m doin’, Father.  I’m trying to do what You called me to do and yes, there are happy times when all seems well and sometimes there are sad times when I need all the help I can get but refuse to ask for.  

Thank You for providing others in my life for times when I need a little extra.  May I be a Joey, Lord, as I endeavor to befriend my fellow man and genuinely care about the responses to when I question about others’ well- being?  I want to be.  I want to be a doer, Father.  Will You help me?  I ask these things in the name of Christ Jesus, Who already did it all.  Amen.