Errands and Encounters

It was a Polly kind of Saturday. I had my route all figured out: antique and thrift store shopping, dropping off donations, washing the car, and then hitting Aldi for groceries. It was the perfect blend of things I enjoy and things that needed to be done. I was in the groove.

I first noticed this little family as I was on my way from the carwash to get groceries. They were apparently panhandling at a busy intersection. One of them was holding a sign, although I couldn’t make out what it said. I was focused on getting my shopping done, so I kept going. At least it was a sunny day, I thought.

By the time I got home, the fun was over. I was tired and hungry and just wanted to put things away to get lunch when this happened: the half-gallon of milk I bought had leaked all over my bag, and my thumb went right through the lid of the butter because the seal was broken.

I texted Bob in the basement and told him I was going to have to go back to Aldi to return these things. (Yes, we text each other from different floors of the house. How do you do it?)

It’s not just a 5-minute drive to the store from our house, so I was going to be in for at least an hour by the time it was all done. Once I had the things returned, I decided to grab milk from Walmart instead, which put me on a route that went right past the family again. Twice. They were still there, still holding up the sign. This time I thought it something about traveling.

I’ll blame the Holy Spirit, my guardian angel, and St. Anthony for what happened next.

For whatever reason, the day’s Gospel reading popped into my mind. It was from Luke 11, verses 27-28. A short little reading in which a woman calls out to Jesus, saying, “Blessed is the womb that carried you and the breasts at which you nursed.” He told her, “Rather, blessed are those who hear the word and observe it.” Jesus wasn’t dissing his mother. Instead, he was just saying we are blessed if we hear God’s word and take action—like she did.

Gulp.

That’s when the gnawing started in my stomach. I was past that corner and well on my way home when I began arguing with myself about going back to help them somehow. It was a lively debate. Would Jesus have kept going? Would Mary? About 7 minutes later, I found a place to turn the car around.

I had a ten-dollar bill in my wallet and an emergency blanket in the back. If they were traveling, this wouldn’t get them much, but it was something. Maybe they could get some lunch. Maybe the blanket would keep their child warm.

When I got to the corner, it looked like they were packing it in for the day. I pulled into the fast food restaurant closest to them and frantically waved at them to come over to my car. As they approached, I could see they were exhausted; their expressions a mix of desperation and hope.

The conversation, or attempt at it, was fast and confusing. I said I didn’t know what their circumstances were, but I hoped this money would help. The young dad (maybe in his later 20s) started trying to tell me what their situation was while I was grabbing the blanket. All I heard was something about being in the car for three days and trying to get to Texas.

I don’t remember what I said, but I do remember looking down at his little four- or five-year-old girl. When she looked up at me, squinting, her look innocence and confusion broke my heart. I handed the blanket to the mom, also young and very thin, and all she said that I could make out was, “For the baby.” And I said, “YES. For your little one.”

The young man and woman kept saying, “God bless you, God bless you,” to which, through my tears, I said, “I will pray for you, pray for me too, okay?”

Then I was back in my car. They were heading to their vehicle, and as I pulled out, all three of them were still standing in the parking lot, looking directly at me. I waved, embarrassed it might look like a casual “see you later” when all I could think was, “I hope you’re going to be okay.” And like that, it was over.

What I gave them wasn’t much. It wasn’t going to change their life, although it may have eased a small burden somehow. I truly believe God wanted me to drive by those people not once or twice but four times to give me a chance to respond. I was very tempted to just keep going on with my day, and I almost did! If I had, I would have missed out on the chance to do something—no matter how small—that showed God I was listening and that I care about what happens to His children.

I’m grateful for the reminder that God is always speaking to me.

I just have to listen and look for a place to turn around. It was a very Polly Saturday.

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I’m curious:

"Have you ever felt that nudge to turn around? What moments in your day remind you to stop and listen?"