Saturday, March 9, 2013

The Lonesome Ranger

"Can you help me?"  She asked.
I turned from the gas pump at the question.  It had been directed at my back.  An older lady stood there, a couple plastic shopping bags in hand.  I raised my eyebrows.
"I need a ride up the road."  She answered my unspoken words, nodding behind her vaguely.
It wasn't the way I had planned to go.  My oldest son was in the back seat of the van, the other three were home where grandpa was holding down the fort.  We were headed home from wrestling practice; my head was full of supper preparation and remembering to stop by the post office before it closed.
I may have sighed inwardly, wishing at the moment I'd picked a different gas station, or hadn't lingered an extra five minutes chatting with the other boys' moms.  But I know how God engineers these things; you don't say "no."  Not to Him.
And not to her.
"Ok," I smiled wanly.  "Hop in."

Have you ever prayed that prayer - the one asking God to use you?  That one when you realize that you are happiest and most blessed when you do what He wants?  I am dimly aware of the cost of that prayer.  But I pray it anyway, purposefully, when that deep soul hunger stirs up the need for refreshment.  My usefulness feels dulled, like an old knife.  I need sharpening.  And I am aware that the dull blade must feel the friction of the sharpening stone if I am ever going to be trusted to cut a tomato again.
I like tomatoes.  So I had prayed.

My happy place...
(photo: Christmas Beeler)

She pulled herself heavily, awkwardly, into the passenger seat as I closed up the gas tank.  She did look tired.
We started off.
"Where do you need to go?"  I asked, eyes on the road.  She was hard of hearing; I repeated myself.  She said she lived about 20 miles away.  If I took her home, it would be an extra hour before I got back to my own.  On we drove.
I heard her story.  On her way home from a round of doctor appointments in the big city several hours south, her car had broken down.  It was now at a garage here in town; should be fixed by morning.  But it would be getting dark soon.  She was by herself.  We kept driving.

I asked about her life; it sounded very lonely.  She had a cat.  She had worked difficult physical jobs until caring for her aging parents had become her primary labor.  They were gone now.  Siblings were far away.
She asked about mine; I had to yell the basics several times.  Four boys.  A husband.  Homeschool.  All of those were foreign to her; but she sounded envious.
I tried to imagine her quiet world.  I talked about God being with me all the time; taking care of me.  I talked about having a church community.  She said she used to go to church, but the people weren't very good.
"No," I agreed, "People aren't good.  But God is.  And He loves to change people.  We are works in progress."
I don't know how much she heard.  She was quiet.
As I dropped her off at her door, I took a deep breath.  Didn't Jesus say walk the extra mile?  I breathed again.
"Do you have a way to get your car tomorrow?"  I asked, half-knowing the answer.
"Well, I"ll figure something out."  She responded.
"You need a ride?"  I pressed.
She looked at me; was I volunteering?  "I do."
We exchanged phone numbers.  I drove home.

The next morning, I dragged all four boys to the toddler's physical therapy appointment.  We did some grocery shopping.  I finally mailed that letter.  We ran home to have lunch.  The lady called to see if I could still come.  I said yes.  The meal dishes piled on top of the breakfast ones in the sink.  Wet laundry sat in the washing machine.  I forgot to switch it to the dryer.  School would have to wait till later that afternoon.  We all piled into the van and headed off to the lady's house again.  The two younger ones fell asleep before we got there.  She pulled herself into the seat.  I headed back the way we'd just come.
"Which garage was it again?" I asked as we approached the big city.
"Oh," she said, "They called after I talked to you...  It won't be done till Friday...  But I still have some errands to run so I thought we'd get those out of the way."

My heart sank.  I pursed my lips and started to pray.  "I figured You wanted me to help her out, God.  I'm going out of my way to help.  But she's just going to use me.  I get that she's lonely, but can't You find someone else to spend time with her?  This isn't fair!"
Clouds rolled across the sky, slate gray and heavy.  The van was quiet.  "So you're going to need a ride back after you've done your shopping?" I said a bit icily.
"Well, eventually," she responded, shifting her weight on the seat.  "You could certainly do something else with your children while I'm in Wal-mart...  I was thinking of stopping by the grocery store too; there's a storm coming, you know..."
Oh, there sure is, I thought.  I could feel it pushing my eyebrows down.  But I'd committed to this, even though I had assumed it would be a one-way trip.  I still couldn't just leave the woman stuck in a parking lot.  "I'll drop you at Wal-mart, but then I'm taking my kids to their grandparents' house." I hollered so she'd hear me.  "They don't need to drive for hours for a shopping trip.  I'll be back to take you home in an hour."
She seemed pretty happy as she hauled herself out of the car.  I glowered at her back.  The little ones stirred awake.
Thankfully, both grandparents had the day off and were more than willing to keep all four kids for an impromptu visit.  The boys dashed off to their various stashes of toys; I hopped back into the moist-smelling van.

The quiet would have been nice.  But the weather in the car was still lowery; thunderclouds collected over my head.  I wanted to be home, reading on the couch with my children while bread baked in the kitchen.  I did not want to be driving needlessly around for hours.
"She's right," I complained to God. "People aren't nice.  They aren't good."
There was silence above the hum of the old van.  Then a line from a scratchy old recorded Paris Reidhead sermon popped into my head.  He had been complaining about being a missionary in Africa. He'd found the people to be cruel, pitiful, and unreceptive to his message of love and hope.  In his frustration he'd wondered why he should even bother with them.  And God had answered him.
"You're right, people aren't good."  God had responded to him.
"But I love them.  And I endured the agonies of hell to save them."

"And, Stephanie," I felt Him add gently, " I love you, too."

A tear sprang in my eye.  Perhaps another hour out of my life wasn't so much to ask.

You sure you want a ride?

She was waiting at the door when I got back.  She hadn't bought much.  She was anxious to get home to see if she'd left her phone there.  It was missing.  "Maybe after we find it, then we can finish getting my groceries."  She said.
"No, I need to get home to feed my kids." I responded, wondering at her audacity.  But my anger had dissipated.  All I saw now was a desperately lonely woman.  "Let's get you home."
We chatted more on the ride back to her house.  She talked about diets and pills and how hard it is to even want to cook just for one person.  I thought about the lentils and rice I had wanted to make that evening and how hard it is to cook if you're not home to do it.  But I smiled sympathetically.  I'd probably live on white bread and chocolate if I was alone.  No, I couldn't even fathom it.  We talked more about God and how life-changing it can be simply to read the Bible.  I mentioned some local churches I knew, and gave her a phone number to an organization that I knew for resources and making local connections.  She put it in her pocket.  
Her phone was at her house.  The relief spread over her face as she popped back out the door to show me.  "So maybe I can call you on Thursday night about getting my car on Friday?"  She asked.
"I can't keep doing this."  I responded apologetically.  "I helped you shop all afternoon, when I thought you needed an emergency ride to get your car.  but Friday I have to do school with the kids and some other things we've planned.  I don't just drive all the time."
"Well, I'll call you Thursday and see if you can."  She replied, not put off.
"Good bye."  I said, and shut the door.  

I hugged my kids close when I got back to them.  Life alone would be so quiet - too quiet.  My naturally introverted self would drive me literally to distraction.  I would grow so selfish, so stuck in my ways, so terribly unforgiving.  I am not good; all by myself would not be better.  
Worse still would be life without God.
That would be truly alone.
What a horrible emptiness, not knowing Someone is always looking out for me, always available to talk, always desiring my company.
He actually wants to be with me.
I'm so glad someone explained that to me once, so I never have to be alone.

Was it a risk to pick up a stranger?  Was I wrong to do it?  Twice?
She wasn't dangerous.  She had legitimate need.  And she asked.  I'm pretty dense, but how could I turn down such a need presented to my face?  I've felt it, once when the car wouldn't start in the grocery store parking lot, my kids all with me, and the driver sitting in the vehicle opposite mine refused to pop his hood to help when asked. I even had the jumper cables.  Did I look menacing - a five foot tall pregnant woman with a minivan?  It is humbling to ask; it is worse to be rejected.  Perhaps I was put in that time and place for just such a purpose as this.

I wish I could say this story tied up nicely.  I wish I could say that the end result justified my being taken for a ride.  A happily ever after would be great.  I don't have one for you this time.

She did call again.  I had a doctor appointment for my youngest and we were behind in schoolwork for the week.  And I was out of gas.  I told her I'd pray for her and hoped she could find a ride, but it simply couldn't be me.
I don't know the end of the story.  Probably I never will.  But I'm glad I didn't say "no".
I'll leave just have to leave the final chapter to the great Author.
He's a better Writer than me, anyway.


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