We may be buying a house. May, as in please, Lord, Please.
Meanwhile, my homeless friends have struck a nerve with Big Strong Man and I. It seems terribly unfair that we have a roof over our heads and we are -hopefully- moving to another house with another roof, and they, meanwhile, will likely still be in their small car with their huge dog.
The nerve was struck when, just a few days ago, the she of the pair sat at my dinner table for three hours holding back tears and, through her sob story, which, unfortunately is her current life's situation, she casually mentioned that they had no money for gas and the he of the pair had a next-day appointment with his doctor. It's a 20+ minute ride each way.
A few years ago, my nerves would have been struck over many, much smaller, details. Then, I counted every serving in terms of how much it cost and how long it would take me to gain it back. That coffee I offered her, mere pennies, but the creamer... another story. The French toast, consisting of bread (which, ironically, I picked-up for FREE at my son's school which has a contract with a local grocery chain and through whom the school gets free bread to share), the eggs, the milk, the sprayed olive oil which kept the toast from sticking. Every nuance had a price tag associated with it. My time, sitting with her at the table when there was so much to do, a price tag. My words of inspiration and reality-check, price tag. This makes me sound odd and self-absorbed and a myriad of other adjectives as well, but the reality is that I sometimes still have those tendencies.
I volunteered to fill-up their gas tank and the agreement was that I would be paid back. No more free money. I had no cash on me and we agreed they could return later, when my husband had returned home from work, and he would have cash on him.
They never returned.
Before their no-show, however, I called B.S.M. and asked him to take $40 from our bank for the sake of their gas tank and this struck his entire nervous system.
He.
Was.
Livid.
By the time he returned home from work, he had worked himself up into a tizzy like no other and practically denounced any interest in wanting to help the pair again. I didn't blame him, I had felt it as well, but he was animated and mean in his assertiveness.
Before the no-show and before I even asked B.S.M. to go to the bank, the she sat at my table, and talked while I did dishes. It was me doing the dishes out of necessity. It was also me doing the dishes out of respect. Had I sat with her and simply talked, getting no work completed, her departure would have found me on my last nerve as I would, undoubtedly, have look around the house in disgrace and curse the wasted time. My time needed to be respected. There is certainly a line and mine had been so crossed previously, that a strong statement needed made.
I asked what they were doing, really doing, to improve their situation. I asked what the next step was, and the one after that. I confessed that I was beginning to believe that they weren't uncomfortable enough, and that is why they remained as they were: homeless. I confessed as well that I wanted to be able to look at her as a friend, and not someone I pitied. That comment angered her a little as her voice rose and with strong confidence she replied, "I don't want your pity".
Her assuredness amused me. I was proud of her.
The he, more than the she, is fine with their predicament. He, more than she, is adjusting to homelessness. Unfortunately for her, he ruled the roast...or tiny car, as it is.
When the conversation turned to money, I found my voice and told her this would be the last. "Don't ask for money again, even a loan. If I am to see you as a friend, as we both desire, than you need to stop the money conversations. They are awkward and they stop here"
*****
Zeplin was really excited when he "discovered" his new, Colts jersey in his dresser drawer. Although he had seen it previously, he had forgotten about it's existence and so putting it on that morning and proudly showing it off was something of a gift to him. He went to his First grade and returned home with his jersey on. He wore it as he played and wore it to dinner at our kitchen table that evening. He wore it until nearing bedtime when I noticed he had spilled ketchup on it and it needed cleaned.
It was before the alarm even went off the next morning when Zeplin entered my room exclaiming that he had found "magic"!
"Mom, look what I found.
In.
My.
Drawer!"
It was his shirt. I had completed it's cycle of dirty to clean and he found this "magical".
How ironic that he thought it was "magic" to have the shirt which was dirty yesterday, clean, folded, and in his dresser drawer today. How ironic when, in comparison, the lovely crocheted throw rugs my mother had made for my brother as a child, still lie on the laundry room floor awaiting their clean cycle. They have been there for a few weeks now.
*****
Nicolette, my beloved sister, called me with just the most exciting news the other day! She was a mere ***lbs, down about 4 pounds since she last checked, and, man, she was just about over the moon upon learning so! In her kindness (*um* naïvety), she asked me how much less I weighed.
"You are likely 5-8 pounds less than me..." she commented.
I laughed as I told her that I weighed exactly ***lbs the last time I checked. Our *** were identical. By the grace of God, and I mean that entirely, it didn't go to my head, our different body types and what that meant exactly. See, she is "curvier" in all the distinctly feminine areas, more curvier than I, and if we weighed the same, so... she won.
"This is a completion", the me of 10 years ago would have whispered in my ear, "she weighs the same but looks so. much.better. More feminine. Sexier. Her body -not yours- is preferred. By men. By other women. By you."
And it's true, I do prefer her curves over my lack-thereof, but -and here's the grace!- it didn't occur to me! Score! She meant no harm, but she was quick to stop me when I mentioned that I was preparing for my workout, and she so casually/bluntly and with a little bit of gloat asked, "have I made you nervous? Are you going to work out now so that you can get smaller than me?"
The nerve! She didn't know that I have been diligently working out for myself- not for her. But, you know what? I smiled. It was immature of her to carelessly comment, but this was not my first rodeo and I was not going down that path. Score two!
Although they were victories for me, the bigger victory was that I understood my grace in the moment came from God.
It was a Fruit of the Spirit moment, no doubt. Faithfulness, Lord, I see Your Faithfulness.
*****
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