a storm

Storms kept us up last night, well, the dog, the baby girl, and I. Ella insisted on sleeping on me, to make sure the thunder didn't get her. Sometimes I am terrified by my children's faith in my protecting them. I want to tell them I can't help and we're not safe, Mommy would be next to useless without a gun or something if it came down to it. When I have nothing else to say, and know the truth is cruel and sad, I try to say that God and his angels will protect us and we shouldn't worry. I usually believe it.

It's even harder to believe that the heavenlies will intervene with our finances. Money seems a trivial thing, in the face of a God who raised Lazarus after 4 days, but I met a man today who told me he's been unemployed for 3 years. That isn't trivial. He had to have been over 50. His job was the sort that didn't lead into another career easily. He was expressing joy that he finally has a part-time job with the company that laid him off. He said he'll have to be careful because the job didn't come with benefits. When he worked in the same capacity 3 years ago, benefits were a part of the position. He shook his head, "They take everything from you and then look for what else they can cut away. But it's a job, I have a job. After three years unemployed you just take it."

A while later I ran into a homeless man who comes to our church regularly for a bag of groceries. I help organize the food pantry and until recently haven't witnessed food being given out, it's often when I am not there. I've heard this man say several times that he's just had a hard week, as if every week hasn't been hard, and hard is surely an insufficient word. I was trying to get my son to open the door for me, as my hands were full of baby, bags, and purse. There I was, headed to buy Chinese food for lunch. Not because I couldn't eat something at home, but because I was sure after being up with the storm I just was too tired to cook. This man hastily put down his groceries and jogged over to open the door for me. He's always polite, and those aren't the manners of someone who never met society. How did he end up where he is? Thank God he can come to the church and quietly take a few things he needs. I look at him, and judge him, even fear him, while he looks at me only to see if I need a hand. I drive a nice minivan home to my loving husband and my beautiful children and my home while he rides his bicycle only God knows where and pops open a can of Campbell's. Where is his family?

To so many, the unemployed man is nobody. The polite man is nobody because he is homeless. But I have a strong feeling these men are definitely more Christ-like than me, more Christ-like than most of us.