I noticed her as I dropped of some in a bin. She offered to help, I said, ” That’s okay. ” As I closed the trunk and got back in the passenger seat she approached the van. She told me she was taught tell the truth and to never lie, because telling the truth shamed the devil. So her mother said, not a bad thought. And he should be ashamed.
The woman proceeded to tell my mother and I about how she had been homeless a month, and sleeping at a store, whether out back or on the bench she sprang from I don’t know. She showed me her shoes. Told us she needed pants and a shirt. And even offered to let us call her boss to confirm she now had a job.
Now, my mother and I try to minister God’s love but we don’t make a habit of picking up people. I was about to offer to buy her some pants, when my mother handed her a bill. She thanked us and was saying she wanted to buy herself a little food. I told her about a women’s shelter and she said it would too far for her to walk to work. She assured me she would be fine until she got a paycheck and promised to get herself a room.
I hope this wasn’t a ruse. I’d like to that that we passed a little test from the Lord and aced it. Or even the angel unaware, which I believe had happened to us. Once a man came out of nowhere and ask my mother to pray for him. It was at a gas station. She did, and just as quickly as he came, he was gone. Either he could walk very fast or he had wings. And once when I was contemplating giving up the writing career and was hating beauty college, a woman should up and encouraged me, saying she to was a writer. And a children’s writer, I do that too.
Most of us will never know what it is like to sleep on park bench. To be freezing cold or hungry. We don’t have to watch for thugs who will beat us up, rape or murder us. We won’t be wandering around mentally ill. We won’t be so addicted to drug or alcohol that we live under a bridge and dumpster dive for scraps. We will never have to steal a pair of shoes or a loaf of bread.
We will never know the sound of coin hitting the bottom of a tin cup as we have hit rock bottom. We will never know what is is to have fought for our country and been riddled with memories and night terrors, and suffer PTSD, long before anyone had a name for it. We will never push a shopping cart in worn sneakers and a ratty, tattered, sweater. We are more like to be pushing a strolling in heels and a cardigan sweater.
We will never know it is like to be a homeless teen. A widow, put out of her home. A man who loses his wife and everything else besides. We may never lose everything we own. Our pets are pampered and theirs are homeless, mongrels who eat from trash cans, still man’s best friend. We will never know the stares, glare s or mockery or wonder what the whispers are about.
We will never be cursed and asked why we don’t just get a life or a job. We may never get hit, beaten, or spat upon, but Jesus was. He knew no sin but became sin for us. The devil should be ashamed but he will never be unless we, like Jesus, destroy his works and put him to shame.
I read that homeless are not the problem, they are the result of the problem. And what is is the problem? Not government, churches, believers who should be in prayer, who are the hands and feet and heart of the Lord. Finally, He had a place to rest His head on a cross of shame so we do not have to be.
I hope their is a place for every battered woman or child, homeless man or woman or teen one day. A place to learn how much Jesus loves them. I know there are people who don’t want to change but for those who do there is a way. His name is Jesus, and has room in His Father’s house. Rebecca Jones
The woman in the boho clothes is obviously not homeless, but she is holding onto her coat, and is front of a wheat field ready to harvest.