I love when life is wonderful in its mystery. Too often I fall into the pattern of taking each day for granted. I climb out of bed, exercise, shower, hug my boys and head off to work. There I experience the ease many people long for. I sit or stand at my desk and perform tasks and get paid a decent wage. Then I get in my (mostly-reliable) car and drive home where I experience a meal that fills my belly, a bed that is comfortable and a roof that keeps me warm and dry. Unlike so many others, I am blessed to express my faith and to live and love as a free person. God bless the USA!
This morning, however, I did not bounce out of bed. After a sketchy night of not-much-sleep, I drug myself from under the covers and limped to the restroom. My body felt ancient and leathery. I was weak–sick even, because after several days of fighting a nasty cold-like virus, I feel like the inside of a drain pipe.
Just do it
Normally I feel better after the first mile–not so today. But once I’m committed, nothing short of fainting will stop me. So I pressed forward. My thoughts returned to the letter my Marine Recruit sent several days ago. To be honest, it’s all I can think about.
“Dear Mother,
This is my last letter before I see you on graduation. It’s finals week and we’re going to be very busy so no more letters. This is it! We got this week and the crucible. 
I’d like prayer for all of it. I have shin splints again and I’m toughing it out because there have been 4 people who have gone to medical and they are going to be here a lot longer. I’ll be fine when it’s over but in the meantime it’s rough.
I’d rather be home. Well, I’ll see you soon and I love you all very much.”
My son used to get shin splints when he played soccer. They were the bane of his existence. So to hear that they’ve returned is difficult for me. I can’t give him advice. I can’t even talk to him. All I can do is pray. It’s the reason I was awake at 3:45 am this morning. The worry wart in me was working over time, and there was nothing I could do to stop that hideous fungi from wracking my brain. So I lay there under my covers and prayed like a condemned man before the hanging.
I was jogging up a hill with all of the fervor of a fish flopping on dry land as I listened to my Bible. I was listening to the story of Moses and the Israelites–who were trying to leave Egypt for The Promised Land. I kept wondering why they are called Israelites–after Israel(or Jacob) and not Abraham. Why weren’t they called Abrahamites? These are the questions I ask God when my brain is in a funk. After all, it was Jacob who stole Esau’s blessing and he was kind of a pansy of a dad. So how did a whole nation get named after him? Anyway, it occurred to me that I am no different than those people wandering through the desert(dessert!) after God did all those terrible things to Pharoah to free them from slavery. It seems they didn’t learn anything. So I’m worrying, when I shouldn’t be, and fretting over the ice cream I ate last night and basically not trusting God at all because I’ve gained some weight and my son has shin splints and life is just not going the way I want it to. And that is basically how I finished my jog/limp/walk–dripping with perspiration and despair–despite my sparkly new running shoes.
Boy am I a big baby. I should have just written I’m a loser-whiny-baby and saved my readers some time.
After a shower, a nice sulk, and some hot tea, I decided to run errands. And that is when I met Joan Smith.
I was standing outside The Salvation Army Store when this elderly woman began chatting at me. I say “at me” because I was nose deep in a bin trying to find a backpack for my youngest child. I was tired and crabby and hungry because it was 2:00 pm and I hadn’t eaten anything yet. After a few minutes I gave up my scavenger hunt and entered into the conversation. And I have to admit, Joan Smith is probably the most interesting person I have ever randomly met. She is 71 years old. She used to be a cop until a drunk driver crashed into her and nearly killed her(not once in the conversation did she complain). She currently works at an auto body shop in West County. She has white hair, is missing many front teeth and has tough, red skin and a hunched back from all the surgeries. But more importantly she is whip smart and as kind as a Golden Retriever. She told me how for many years she has been passionate about helping disadvantaged children and used to work at a home that took care of them. She told me story after story about helping specific boys the rest of the world had given up on, and how in her spare time she still buys and repairs bicycles to give to them as gifts(on her own dime). She mentioned her age because she said she is still riding a mountain bike and loves it. But the coolest thing Joan did was tell me about the poor and forgotten people in the world that she meets on a daily basis and how she helps them, but more importantly, how they help her.
“I talk to people wherever I go because I think it’s important,” She said. “Community is not about how much money you have, it’s about how much you take care of another person.” And I just stood there slack-jawed, in awe of this wonderful stranger-of-my-own-heart as she told me the story of a homeless man she met who didn’t have more than a few dollars to his name and asked for her help to buy some Ramen noodles so he wouldn’t starve. And she said, “You know, Ramen Noodles are filled with salt and aren’t very good for you, still, I bought them and gave him $5.00. I would have given him more but it’s all the money I had. In turn, he told me about Jesus.”
So I gave her my card and she gave me this in return…a hand scrawled poem that I will cherish until the day I die.
It’s when your hands are empty that you find a way.
It’s when you see only darkness that you must pray.
It’s–you have only 2.00 dollars and a coupon for your brother’s meal.
It’s when he shows you Jesus that you know God’s real.
And I can’t stop thinking about her and how she loved on me for the hour we spent talking. Did she see how tattered and threadbare my heart was? Like a bloodhound seeking out the sad and lonely soul, she found me and covered all my cold places with her warmth. And it seems like she was an angel–except she gave me her phone number and promised to have lunch with me soon. But I do know one thing, God sent her when I most needed a friend.
Tonight I danced around the yard with my boxer dog, Tank. One of my neighbor’s leaned out of her door and shouted, “Are you having fun over there?”
“You bet!” I said.
And I took this picture. And I thanked God for his goodness and his grace. I may never solve my eating problem. I will probably always be a worrier. I won’t always be able to help my sons when I want to. But God loves me and that’s all that really matters; loving and being loved. What wonderful grace!
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