Just faded into brick

I waited too long for my order at a coffee shop downtown. Trying to be patient and supportive of the new place, I sent Abigail and Craig on to another shop one block over to grab lunch.

Leaving the store with only my cell phone in hand, latte in the other and baby Jakob being worn, snug tight on my front. There, I noticed two people against the wall with their shopping cart, filled with all they own, asking for $.25 to buy a coffee. 

The one man asked if that was a baby under the blanket, and immediately apologized for "bothering" me. 

"No, what is your need?" I asked. 

He just wanted coffee. I suggested the inner-city church just around the corner for a free coffee. 

It wasn't open right now. 

He checked. 

I had nothing on me to offer, no debt card nor cash. Just then, Craig and Abigail came around the corner towards me and Craig puffed up looking defensive. Protective. I asked for Craig's wallet so I could buy them coffees. Cream and sugar. Extra sugar for the frail maybe four and a half foot slumped woman in the corner against the wall.

People walked by, and Craig observed, "it's like they don't even see them. Like the homeless people on the street have just faded into the brick."

Offering coffees to a pair of old worn hands, he responds "thank you. I would much rather be working to earn this."

Craig and Abigail order food next door and we tag team. He goes to pray with the man, listens to his story. Eyes swell and needs are expressed.

I can't remember my meal between holding a squirming baby who has learned to reach and re-seating a 3 year old to eat her food. My second to last bite I realize my "fish burrito" was in fact a "tofu burrito". Several times I peek outside to make sure my husband is still there (honestly, hoping and praying he stays safe). Followed by feeling of guilt for doing so.

Her pants are loose. Hanging below the waste like a teenage boy. The "fashionable" tears in them let in a cold breeze on her not even 90 pound wasting away body. At lease she has a coat. Craig joins us to eat his lunch and shares his conversation with me. "She needs pants." That is a need. Clothing. Food. Shelter. They have none of these, really. I have 6 phone numbers memorized. (I am not one with numbers anyhow) One of which just might have a solution to this problem. I call and they answer. I am overwhelmed with gratitude.

It's a clothing ministry just down the road. I find two pairs of jeans that will fit, one cami (Lord, may she feel a bit feminine and beautiful, underneath it all?) a turtle neck, because frankly this is New Hampshire and it gets cold, especially at night. I look for something to hide her wild cropped hair and keep her warm, and something to keep loose pants up, even if it is a tie. I find the only winter cap and the only one-size small ladies belt, meant for her. I pray for a small token to be found in our car perhaps, to leave a remnant of Jesus. Walking out the door, I find a track "Finding Hope in Hard Times" and a devotional by Amy Carmichael.

 

I hand the book, tract inside with our church address and phone number in it, along with our names. She snatches it from me, clinging to it says, "This is my treasure!" I hand her a bundle of clothes, tied with the belt. This harsh and life-beaten woman holds me so tightly. Her thin arms wrap around me and she is like a small child just weeping, asking why I would do this for her. I explain Christs love, how God owns cattle on a thousand hills and He desperately wants us to know Him, to call out to Him. Knowing Him doesn't guarantee easy or that we get what we want, but it gives us peace that He DOES hear. Sometimes He answers through people-"So consider this a gift from God. He sees your need and He has asked me to be an extension of Himself to share His love."

She weeps. "I think God is mad at me for all of the things I have done. That is why my life is so rotten and why I am dying this painful death of cancer."

And if there wasn't an opportunity to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ before, there certainly is now.

 I pour into this abused, prostituted, homeless, helpless, frail, alcoholic, sick and dying of cancer woman the truth of the Gospel. That there is nothing she could ever do, or has done, that would make Him love her any less. That His love for her is good, it's pure and it wouldn't harm her (unlike the "love" from other men she has experienced).

The words are fading now, just like the sun and the warmth it brought today. The reality is this-

Tonight, there is a very real couple out there living on the streets nearby. One of whom is dying of cancer and suffering the pain that goes with it. Self medicating with alcohol and getting by "working the streets". Has been beaten, abused and used by men. She has proclaimed that she doesn't know Jesus. Pray with me now, please? 

For this woman who is dying and doesn't know Jesus.

Sweet Jesus, You know our hearts desires, our needs and our struggles. Please bring some pain relief to this dear woman that you created and you love. Reveal yourself to her and her boyfriend. Lord, you desire to be in relationship with them and I pray that through hearing about you today, receiving a devotional tool and Gospel literature, that they would come to know you today, in Jesus name. Amen.

This encounter, this is evidence of answered prayer. I was recently convicted of not sharing Christ enough and asked the Lord to bring more opportunities to me, that I might have open eyes and a boldness to be His hands and feet. Not too long ago, I wouldn't have done this. I treasure the joy of having a husband who shares these same convictions and is gifted with words. Thank you Jesus.