Good Samaritan

He said,
     "My name is Carl, and I'll take you anywhere you want to go."  


***
I turn and see her--
hands bare from forward propelling chair on wheels, she
uses her one good leg to spin around and heave backwards through the crowd,
low voice calling out to passerby's--
                    "Watch out!  Comin' Through!"


Dark skin stark against hard life,
wearing white, stained tee.
And I see her wince under the weight of Market Street:
the sound of cable cars and tourists,
as she narrowly misses the 49ers paraphernalia taking up
valuable sidewalk space.


And the crowd did all but part ways for her.
                    So still the struggle.


The hurried tourists skirt around her like they did the overturned 
     garbage can up the street.  
Some rush back to work after a quick lunch, 
     preoccupied with living.  
Others don't see--
     so much destitution becomes normal.


Still, a few just don't care.  Her business isn't their business.
Isn't my business.  
Pang in the heart.


***


Then he says it again:
                     "I'll take you anywhere you want to go." 


And the way he says it--it's like....like he means it.
I stare and see then that he does mean it.
And he hasn't asked it as a question.


They shuffle a bit with his load.  
He asks if she minds holding his beer. 
She holds his Italian leather briefcase and 
his open bottle of anchor steam 
against her stained pants, 
and bandage-wrapped leg; 
                    smiles grateful at the man who offers such mercy.


And his young voice calls out to her above the noise of 4th Street. 
She is being asked her name.
She is being asked about her day. 
Shiny patent shoes scrape against 80-grit and 
sounds like the melody of mercy and 
 she talks
                     --on and on and on.


I can still hear her voice as they sail around the corner.


***


He: young, able, income-savvy.
She: old, unable, destitute.
Both: despite race, income, age, or even the proposed daily agenda--
                    joined for a moment; exchanging names.


 And for just a time, her hardship is gone and she feels like a person worth getting to know better. 
A Good Samaritan. For another, life laid down.


Carl walked a mile.
A mile which wasn't his.
And he made it his business.


Will 
I 
make 
it 
mine?











Please visit Emily for more...

Mr. Stinky Attitude

Our morning went as usual yesterday. Breakfast had been eaten, bible read, prayers said, girls dressed. Dishes were being put away. Silver spoons transferred to their familiar dwelling place, see-through drinking glasses lined in a row, earth-colored plates stacked like a tower, familiar little-girl chit-chat mixed in with mama's frequent reminders to stay on task, baby--sitting at counter--contemplating the ingesting of the washrag, now that her bananas were finished.

Then it struck. Like a poison. It started first as an indignant shout. From one sister to another. Rights had been violated. Feelings hurt. Indignant shout was justified by the sender.

What if she was allowed this?

What if she continued this way through her life?

See the lake of bodies in her path. See the broken bridges. See the disarray.

I sighed. I hadn't wanted to mention the visitor that had come to stay with me for far too long. I had wanted to keep him a secret. I didn't want anyone to know he had been allowed in my home. But I have a responsibility to share with the girls what could happen if they let him come and stay with them. Stooping low, anguish eyes meeting sullen eyes. My beloved daughter, let me tell you a story.

When I was a young girl, much like yourself, I heard a loud rasp at my door. I opened up the door wide and there stood a boy, with a crisp, white shirt. He had nice pants on, too. His shoes had just been shined. He asked if he might come in for just a minute or two.

"What do you think I said?" I asked the wide eyes staring at me.

"I don't know," she whispered.

I told the boy to come on in! I made him comfortable, gave him some lemonade to drink. I put his feet up on a stool, and I asked him to stay awhile. And you know what? He did! He stayed, and he stayed and he stayed. No longer, though, did he have a crisp white shirt or shiny shoes. Over time, his shirt had became crumpled and stained, his shoes were in tatters. He slept on the couch day after day after day and made a complete mess of my house. Garbage was everywhere. And he was mean! He had a stinky attitude. His attitude was so stinky and he made such a mess that I started calling him Mr. Stinky Attitude. With Stinky Attitude around, my house just got messier and messier and he started moving around to other parts of my house, messing things up. After while it was hard to go visit my sister and my friends and my parents, because of the mountain of mess in the way.

"I'm not talking about my house, am I?" I asked my girl.

"No, you're talking about your heart," she said with a sheepish look.

"yes," I said.

Amazement set in. She understood that. But of course, maybe because she recognizes the story. Don't we all?

I continued.

I had all but given up. I thought Stinky Attitude was going to stay in my house, making messes, forever. I forgot I had asked him to come in. If I had asked him in to my house, surely I could ask him to leave. I finally got the courage to ask Mr. Stinky Attitude to leave. He didn't want to. I had to drag him out. And let me tell you--he didn't go quietly. He hung on to the door jam and finally I had to kick him out. And he didn't take his mess with him, either. I had to clean up after him. And it took awhile. Huge black garbage bags filled. Filled with tears, shouts, hurt feelings, mean looks, cross eyes, slumped shoulders, screeches, scalding voices, muted ears, padlocks, stomping shoes, slammed doors, and self-righteousness. When it was finally cleaned, I looked around with gratitude. I had forgotten what it was like to have a place to stay and rest and be happy; a place to give joy--not take joy away--from my loved ones. I finally was able to go visit with my sister and my parents. I even saw my friends again. During the time I was cleaning, Mr. Stinky Attitude kept rasping at my door. Every day I had to tell him to go away. He got in a couple of times. But I remembered what would happen if I let him stay.

I prayed and asked for help. I asked God to keep Mr. Stinky Attitude away for good. He helped me do that.

Oh, he still knocks at my door. And he even comes in and tries to stay. But I pray and God helps me get him out and he stays out when I do that.

I look at my daughter. Furrowed brow and hard eyes are gone. In it's place: tender looks and a repentant heart. Other daughter has eyes wide with excitement. She is bursting. I can see wheels turning. She runs and grabs a scrap of paper. On it she draws a face with it's tongue sticking out. She asks me to write a note to Mr. Stinky Attitude. So we can tape it to our door (heart), reminding him to keep away. So we do.

I'm not sure the tongue sticking out is the non-stinky way to ask Mr. Stinky Attitude to stay away, but I guess we'll find out. :o)

Mr. Stinky Attitude--You do NOT live here!






Reposting this for Imperfect Prose Thursdays over at Emily's! Need to do a little "housekeeping" this week! ;O)

Unthwarted

"I know that you can do all things

And that no purpose of yours

can be thwarted."

~ Job

When he woke that morning all better, I remember fearing that it wasn't going to last. And I asked God to make it so. For those four glorious months we rejoiced and rested, not knowing that the true test was to come. And how do you react when your greatest dream realized, is then again taken away? And how do you go on when your best friend holds the hand of physical pain each day, an unwelcome friend? And do I really mean it when I say I wish it were me, not my girls' daddy? At the time I do, but I know no one can go on feeling this way every day and not crumple.

I remember the afternoon 11 years ago when I walked into the room to find the strong half of me laying on the hospital bed. And I ran--the hallway a marathon filmed in slow motion. And the nurse, busy talking, walked slowly to his side. And then the flood--the flood of doctors and voices and shouts and code blues and "Get her out of heres!" and I--hiding in the corner, too busy crying to pray. And I feel that desperation again. In the middle of a movie. In the still of the night. Even in the middle of a noisy hallway. I am there again. And I feel it again. Like death is looming. And the same shock and devastation tastes bad in my mouth. Sickness is a robber...stealing and stripping and ransacking. Until nothing is left except absolute dependence on The Maker of the World. And we are forced to completely surrender our rights, our expectations and even our future.

How do you rise after you fall on your knees in disappointment?

Cry...

Cry to God.

Seek.

Seek HIS wisdom.

We are not to go about this world alone.

We are to continue meeting together...praying together...

encouraging one another.

And praise.

Praise the God who gives and takes away. Praise the One who sees the beginning and the end. Praise the One who saves.

Blessed be the name of the Lord.


Consider joining this compassionate community of writers and be blessed....

Fresh Mind

She sits in still water and it's supposed to preserve her and keep her.
Or so the child says.

And she looks at me as I slice peppers and when I rinse fork.
This oddity has become a fixture on my sill--

Sharing space with sprouting beans and leafy basil
warmed by Winter's bright sunlight.

Feet patter through and she sits forgotten
day is gone, and then another.

Until aged water becomes stagnant
and jar hides in plain view with complacency.

A brightly packaged novelty is now familiar
and eyes pass by but no longer see

And sometimes I know I do that as I
mother and wife. Taking for granted

splendor and delight and wonderment.
And not really "seeing" the gifts before me.

It's time to dump old water and see with fresh mind
and renewed heart, filling hearts to the brim.

Life Saver

For years I kept afloat by my own
buoyancy:

A desperate tread of water
and
the dismissal of
things I couldn't think
about.

Keep busy I think
and I do. Fears are buried.

The storm picks up pace
and my splashing isn't
sufficient and I feel I might
drown. Water stings and my
eyes dip below and I
panic.

And now the choice must be made:
sink or swim and I choose swim.

I reach out and grasp the Holy One
whose hand is a constant stretch
and He breathes calm into me
and He rescues my drowned hope.

I gulp fresh air and rest in stable lifeboat
which is He and I feel drained and
haggard breath fills silence.
Air is honey and I call out
to the only one who gives true buoyancy.

God is ever faithful, my Savior.

"Oh Lord, My God, I will give you thanks forever." Ps. 30:12b

Joining Emily for Imperfect Prose...

Mud Pies Forever

Mud Pies call to me

And there I sit, again.

I am six and the mud oozes

And drips

and cakes

and clumps

And it’s not half as messy as

My smile. I am a top-notch chef,

A connoisseur of simple happiness

And I bake the mud right out of

The pastry until it’s way past time

To go in and I’ve made hundreds—

No, thousands of sloppy pies.

The taste of Imagination

is pure deliciousness

And my palate is quenched like the

Time I sat next to my lonely friend

Instead of keeping with the crowd.

I wipe mud on my pants and begin again.

The mud is mine, And I am it.

***

And the reverie is over and

Now I have a girl of six

And she drips,

She cakes,

And she clumps mud

And her smile is messy, too.

She is a top-notch chef,

A connoisseur of simple happiness

And she invites me to stay long

and bake hundreds—

No, thousands of pies and I

Agree and before I know it,

I am her playmate and my palate is quenched

Because I choose it to be, like the

Times I sit with my girls to play together,

instead of doing my grown-up thing,

to sugar-coat and entertain our

imaginations.

We wipe mud on

our pants, and smile. The mud is ours,

and we are it.

Linking with Emily today....

I'll keep you Confany

"I'll keep you confany (company)." spoke the younger to the older with creased forehead the night the oldest girl had to sleep on the hallway floor beside the bathroom the same day she turned 7 and consumed way too many treats of delicious nature and sweet celebration. And then gentle-eyed sister sidled up beside her and made camp for the night.

A moment is made and a bond is given glue.

And mom turns around corner and peeks at little hands pulling back hair with purpose, both bent over porcelain, and her mama eyes well up at the blessed offering, shown by the small, but big, gesture. And later again in the softest of whispers, when little heads go down, "It's okay, you can take my pillow," noses almost touching. Beloved spot for pretty little head and downy hair--is sacrificed for the first night in 3 years.

And mom stands quiet, barely breathing as words are exchanged in the still air of harmony. A sweet fragrance of words fill the space: I'm so glad I have you. And me, too. So glad I have you and Reesie. Because if I didn't, I would be lonely. Yeah, because mom and dad would be busy sometimes. Yeah--hundreds and hundreds of times busy. Hundreds and hundreds of times busy. So glad I have you. Lonely.

And mom is discovered before eyes close shut.

I prayed for her tonight, Mom.

Oh, really? What did you say?

I said, "Dear Jesus, thank you for Liv...." And then I forgot what else....Mouth frowns.

But the comforted remembers. The comforted cannot forget.

"She asked Jesus to make me feel better by the morning!"

Lullaby tunes of late nights past are hummed and sung to the older from the younger. And she is nourished by the giving of another...Baby mine, dry your eyes, lay your head close to my heart.....Please keep singing till I fall asleep, kay?

M'kay.

Please join Emily as she shares beautiful prose...

Twirly Girl

shrieks echo off little apple tree

as Twirly Girl takes the stage

tasting the wind and feeling

salt mane whip across summer shoulders

With her toes she digs in deep

grass-stained and light as air

skimming tops of dewey blades

she's dancing with God-ordained steps

Some twirl to escape

others twirl from innocence.

But you, Twirly Girl-- may you dance

for the one who formed those twirly feet.

Let them praise His name with dancing

and make music to Him with tambourine and harp.

Psalm 149:3

Make a joyful shout to the Lord, all you lands!

Serve the Lord with gladness;

Come before His presence with singing.

Know that the Lord, He is God;

It is He who made us, and not we ourselves;

We are His people and the sheep of HIs pasture.

Enter into His gates with Thanksgiving,

And into HIs courts with praise.

Be thankful to Him, and bless His name.

For the Lord is good;

His mercy is everlasting,

And His truth endures to all generations.

Psalm 100

Joining Emily today from Imperfect Prose...I really loved her post.

.

Garden Prose

Flower soup

an ode to Summer

Muddy soil

a worm's delight

Husks stand tall

salute to harvest

Berry blue

lone and majestic

Hollyhock

crunched tight with marvel

Chicks n Hens

dense geometry

Grapes cascade

abundantly blessed

Sunflower

bees spritely feasting

Mud baby

your bath awaits.

Visit Emily...who brings together a warm community of prose-writers every Thursday:

Beneath the Hemlock

Cheek to cheek, an outside ballroom

I am free

whirling, beneath the hemlock

captivity ropes fresh fallen at feet

heart-soar with a song of found freedom

a humbled heart is light

The wind feels it, too,

and so sails along as music to ears

like prison gates swung wide and chains, heaped

And this spot, beneath the hemlock

Spot of sacred whisperings

Remain a stamp to my soul

For when I answered His nudge

with heavy feet

He took those feet and made them dance

I'm thanking Him today

for His relentless calling

to spread the grace that is He.

All of Me

Teetering tall, she grasps my arm

and lay her head on my shoulder

with bashful smile;

my eyes crinkle, welled.

And I wish for the clock in the corner

to stop, for this moment to be tucked

into the pocket of my heart

and so I make it.

Turning, I smile back

and I am with her.

I am not with my long list

I am with her.

all of me.

For how is she to taste sacrifice
if it is not first shown here
and isn't this a glimpse of God's love

by a mother for her child?