A Story for New Years

I walk through the dingy doors of the motel. My heart is beating more quickly than I'd like, giving away my nervousness more than my facial expressions already have. I see her then, and she greets me in the lobby with that kind smile of hers. I feel slightly more at ease. I haven't seen Beth* in over three months. She looks even thinner than she did in August, and I notice that she has a large sore forming on her right eyelid. Her velvety chocolate skin looks worn.

"It's so good to see you," I say, hugging her awkwardly with the bags in my hands. They are meager provisions compared to what she needs, and I feel lame giving them to her, but it was all I had in my house that morning. After all, it was short notice. I'd ransacked my bathroom cabinets, tossing old Clinique samples, glycerin soaps, travel-sized shampoos and conditioners, and half-used bottles of lotion into a big, yellow bag. I rummaged through my kitchen cabinets, trying to make an educated guess as to whether or not they had a microwave in their room. 

The two men working at the front desk watch me carefully as I set the bags down. I take in the whole scene--the Christmas lights around the banister, the old dark green carpeting, the poorly lit hallways, and the aged wallpaper that encases the entire lobby.

"It's good to see you too," she replies, smiling. "I've missed you."

I smile back then, recalling what a sweet spirit Beth has about her. "I want to hear everything, but before I forget--" I reach in my pocket and pull out a meager twenty dollar bill. I figure I'll get the most awkward portion of this visit out of the way immediately. "Crap. I have more. hold on." I hastily shuffle through my purse and my back pockets, dropping my wallet on the floor in the process. Finally, I find the last third of her money. I push the cash into her hands, looking around the lobby again. "I'm sorry it's not more."

Beth spends ten minutes catching me up. She explains why she texted me this morning, and why she and her mother are living in a motel.

Looking down at the floor, she informs me that at her last place of employment, they were looking for more "managerial experience." So they let her go. "I knew it would probably be a temporary position. I don't know...The church is paying for this first month here. Right now I'm trying to raise enough money for us to be able to stay another month. We need $800. With what you brought me, I have $350. I just went down the list of friends I have in the area..."

My brain snaps into problem-solving mode.

"So you're looking for work?"

"Oh yes. It's hard though. Disheartening. I'm spending my time right now divided between filling out job applications, and praying."

I wonder to myself how hard it must be to find work when your phone number is always changing, you're car-less, you have no permanent address, and under your highest level of education, you have to write, "home-schooled through high school." 

I try not to think about it.

"Can I meet your mom? Is she here?" I ask.

"Oh...she's..." Beth looks unsure of how to answer. "She's still a little sheepish about her appearance. You know. I mean, she's glad to be off the streets for the winter...and I couldn't stand being in that apartment without her for those few months, knowing that she was sleeping in shelters every night without me. It was just awkward. I hated it. But she doesn't really have any good clothes, and she's been through so much over the past three years...she just feels like she can't meet people yet. She's uncomfortable. I'm just glad I got her a place to stay for a while." 

I nod, and my mind travels to my own mom. She's a teacher. Right now she's on Christmas vacation with my dad in Washington, D.C. 

I think back on how I, in my "self-sufficient" state have had to ask my parents for help over the last two years, when I couldn't make ends meet. I suddenly become curious about where I would be without their help. 

Asking a few questions, I write down her mom's clothing measurements, as well as both of their shoe sizes, and the various phone numbers at which I can reach them. None of this feels real. I silently wonder if Beth and her mom are going to be back on the streets in another month. I look down at her feet. She's wearing flip-flops. It's thirty-four degrees outside.

"Well, it was really good to see you," Beth says, eyeing me carefully. She's watching me take this all in, I can tell. 

We make plans to get together the next day so I can drive her to a few places and let her fill out job applications. I give her a quick hug and tell her I'll see her tomorrow.

I drive home silently. All I can do is pray. Earlier in the week I had asked God for an opportunity to help someone--to really be like Jesus. An opportunity to step outside of my life and quit being such a self-involved, narcissistic bastard. In the car, now, I think about how he loves to answer those prayers. I figure he has probably been watching me closely, just waiting for me to utter that prayer, so he could step in and rescue me from my selfish routine and instead make me an instrument with which he could help another one of his children.

We'll see what happens.

For now, please pray for Beth and her mom. Pray that God would open doors for Beth to get a job. Pray that they would find a real home. And pray that God will bless me by allowing me to be a instrumental part of their lives in this season of need.