Last night I sat in front of my sewing machine and worked for several hours in quiet bliss. Later, I read and then borrowed my colleague's laptop to play Taptiles while listening to the audio book of Gone With the Wind on YouTube.
While I sewed and read and listened and played in my nice - rather stuffed - bedroom, a barely 18 year old girl was huddling in a park at the end of town. She stayed there all night - past the time I finally tore myself away from the gripping novel and my ever more impressive high scores and went to sleep between clean sheets - because she couldn't go home.
Her father had kicked her out and she was scared to go to the police. She hadn't been able to take anything with her - money, clothes, food, or possessions. A friend she contacted the next day called my colleague to ask for advice on how to help. My colleague phoned the local safe house but they said that according to regulations they could not shelter her unless she reported to the police which she did not want to do.
The next move was obvious. I scrambled to clear and clean my room and get another set of sheets from the well stocked linen cupboard.
Funny how we can think we don't have quite enough, but when someone needs our help we realize that, in fact, we have plenty. Our kitchen balcony holds crates and boxes of fruit and veggies. A re-purposed freezer is stacked so high with canned food, pasta, cookies, and various other dry foods that only the most careful arranging allows it to close. There are enough sheets and towels in the closet for far more guests than our three bedroom apartment could possibly hold.
Soon, the couch in my bedroom is unfolded and leftover dinner is re-heating on the stove.
The next day, her father calms down and her mother gives her the all clear to come back.
I am relieved for her but shamed for myself. I really need to get a handle on my grumping about broken utensil drawers and scanty water pressure from the shower hose.
Though I may never get 100% on 1 Thessalonians 5:18 I'm at least going to graduate from this life with a passing grade in it. Goodbye, ingrate me. I won't miss you.
While I sewed and read and listened and played in my nice - rather stuffed - bedroom, a barely 18 year old girl was huddling in a park at the end of town. She stayed there all night - past the time I finally tore myself away from the gripping novel and my ever more impressive high scores and went to sleep between clean sheets - because she couldn't go home.
Her father had kicked her out and she was scared to go to the police. She hadn't been able to take anything with her - money, clothes, food, or possessions. A friend she contacted the next day called my colleague to ask for advice on how to help. My colleague phoned the local safe house but they said that according to regulations they could not shelter her unless she reported to the police which she did not want to do.
The next move was obvious. I scrambled to clear and clean my room and get another set of sheets from the well stocked linen cupboard.
Funny how we can think we don't have quite enough, but when someone needs our help we realize that, in fact, we have plenty. Our kitchen balcony holds crates and boxes of fruit and veggies. A re-purposed freezer is stacked so high with canned food, pasta, cookies, and various other dry foods that only the most careful arranging allows it to close. There are enough sheets and towels in the closet for far more guests than our three bedroom apartment could possibly hold.
Soon, the couch in my bedroom is unfolded and leftover dinner is re-heating on the stove.
The next day, her father calms down and her mother gives her the all clear to come back.
I am relieved for her but shamed for myself. I really need to get a handle on my grumping about broken utensil drawers and scanty water pressure from the shower hose.
Though I may never get 100% on 1 Thessalonians 5:18 I'm at least going to graduate from this life with a passing grade in it. Goodbye, ingrate me. I won't miss you.
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