The Runaway

Yesterday I was driving home from the grocery store when I saw something unusual. At the traffic light I looked over to see a young girl running down the sidewalk in dirty wet socks, a sleeveless shirt and no coat. I rolled my window down and shouted from three lanes over, "Honey, do you need help?" She was crying, red faced, cold with dirty scratches all over her arms. "No." She yelled back. Obviously, this kid needed help. I called out again, "Where are your shoes?" She just shook her head and buried her face in her hands. At that point she had reached the cross walk and was waiting to cross the street. The light turned and I had to go, but this was not a grown-up, this was a child and I couldn't ignore her. I pulled around into a parking lot just after the light and go out of my car in time to see her crossing the street and coming my direction.

This time I didn't give her the option to receive help, I just walked over to her and said, "Honey, let me help you. Let me help you, what happened?" She just started blubbering about how "He hits me and my brother. I hate him..." I tried to calm her down. I managed to find out that she was 11 and her name was Chloe. She wasn't making a whole lot of sense but was visibly cold so I explained to her that I was a teacher and that I would help her and told her to get in the car with me. She did and I brought her home with me.

In my head I was freaking out. I'd never done this sort of thing before. I totally reacted out of a mothering instinct I suppose. I had no idea what I was doing and it's a good thing my roommate wasn't home because I don't think she would have appreciated me bringing a runaway home.

Once we got to my place I told her to throw out her dirty socks and I gave her a clean pair, I found some shoes of mine for her to wear and gave her a sweatshirt. I sat her down on the couch and she began to calm down. I just kept telling her it was going to be okay, (not having any idea what that meant) but knowing that's what she needed to hear. I let her read some magazines and walked away and went to another other room to call the police.

In five minutes I had three police officers in my living room. It turned out that the person who was hurting her was not a man, but another child, which was a huge relief, but the situation was still really bad. Apparently her mother left her father for an old boyfriend and he's not a nice man. She said that he has never hurt her, but obviously he's a harsh man and she desperately wants to be with her real father.

It was all really intense. When all was said and done, the cops had to take her home, she hugged me and thanked me. I felt terrible letting her go, but I couldn't keep her.... I can however pray for her, forever. And I will, and hope that by casting my bread upon the water, someday, even if it's in eternity, it will come back to me.

A Month of Sundays and More...

I woke up this morning to a phone call from my doctor. I've been off of work for a month now and after my first and hopefully last MRI ever, they found the problem. There is a gigantic pregnant alien in my neck. Just kidding. I have a bulging disc in my lower cervical vertebrae.

I've lost track of doctor visits and watching the medical bills come rolling in make me feel like I'm on a game show. Every time I open an envelope it's like I hear a DING! in the backround and a voice inside my head goes "CONGRATULATIONS! You now owe 1,000,000 dollars to your insurance company!" Okay, okay it's not a millon dollars, but it might as well be on a preschool teachers budget.

So now I must wade into deeper, murkier unknown waters. A neurosurgen evaluation, spinal epidural injections...more PT. These are words I never expected to utter at the beginning of 2011.

I feel helpless in my body. Completly. Helpless. I miss running. I miss hiking. I miss my kids and being able to work in general. Most of all, I miss my health.

Lord, none of this is new to you. You know the end from the beginning. So I submit myself to you. Please take care of me and heal me in your time. Amen.

Slacklining...for real...(metaphorically speaking).

Faith is like a slackline. I've slacklined before and I'm terrible at it. However, I also really enjoy slacklining. It builds balance and concentration and forces you to use muscles you didn't know you had. I've only done it between trees, but if you get really good, you can do it over crazy deep divides between climbing expeditions. The thing is if you look down, you'll never make it across one of those deep divides (At least, I wouldn't). You have to keep your eyes ahead and just keep putting one foot in front of the other, because when you are so far out on the slackline sometimes it's the turning back that would make you fall more than the prospect of actually going forward.

So last night, I crawled into bed and started to cry. I'm on the slackline and I don't dare look down. "But God..." this and "But God..." that. I said through my tears as I lay there and looked up at the ceiling. Then before I could get into the complaining I remembered Caleb and Joshua again. They took the Promise Land because they believed. God told them over and over again "Do not be discouraged, do not be afraid" and the Word says "God did great things." How can we expect God to do great things if we can do them in our own strength? Where is the adventure or excitement in that?

Still...I see things starting to unfold quickly in my life. Where there was a long season of silence, nary a wind even, all of a sudden things are starting to change so fast and I just can't figure it out or keep up with how it's all going to happen and I think that's the point. I think I'm just along for the crazy ride.

More to come.....!