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.