“Mama, Jesus is smiling!”

(For SHM)

The sun was shining, I had the day off work. After I was blessed with a good workout and some quality time with my hubby, my youngest daughter (in her last year before turning 13,) asked if I would take her to 3 stores: a local consignment shop, 5 below (undoubtedly to spend her hard-earned dollars on a Squishmallow) and Ulta where she can cover the back of her hand in colors of eyeshadow, lip gloss and everything in between.

I learned a long time ago that when spending time with teens or even younger kids, being able to talk is one thing, but usually, having an activity at the same time is the very best case scenario. Before the pandemic, I spent many counseling hours playing Uno, “garbage” coloring or shooting hoops with a nerf basketball hoop while listening to some of the hardest stories and emotions. It is a lot easier for most of us, I think, if we are not in the spotlight, face to face or even asked direct questions.

With my own teens, sitting in the car driving, watching movies, building Legos, coloring and drawing or even sitting on their beds while they clean has provided some of the richest conversations we’ve ever had. Earning the right to be heard also consists of providing the safest opportunities and trust to be vulnerable.

In all honesty, I didn’t want to shop today. It has been a busy week, a headache was edging around my head from the moment I woke up and I truly wanted to spend some time researching how to self publish my writing! But…because of this career I have and the deep value instilled inside me about relationships, especially, with our beautiful kids, it was truly a very easy yes.

Our youngest daughter is the “icing on the cake,” of completing our family. She is, by many people’s description, “sunshine in human form.’ She loves with every fiber of her being, she cares deeper than most can even begin to imagine, is kind to a fault, has incredible wit and comedic timing (at 12!) and so truthfully, has a heart so much like how I know Jesus to be.

Lest you think she is the favorite of my 3 (or perfect), that is not the case. We ALL have our own brokenness. And we all know it…if we don’t, someone in this house will certainly let you know! She is a bundle of energy, lets her bodily noises fly at the most inopportune times and is at a really moody, emotional rollar coaster of a spot currently. We practice both/and ALOT in this season with (nearly) 3 teens in the house.

All that being said, I am feeling the race of time and KNOW without a single doubt that the days of her wanting or being able to amble around Ulta and laugh at funny outfits we put together on the fly or even spoil her with yet ANOTHER stuffed animal, are fleeting at BEST.

Before we left the driveway, she was cuing up Taylor Swift on her phone, creating our shopping play list in Apple Music and directing our route. Though I instantly became concerned about how long this shopping extravaganza was legitimately going to last, I played along because honestly, she’s my youngest. I’ve learned some things since the first daughter and our second kid, our son. She DOES have the more laid back versions of us, sometimes. Sometimes, I think we’ve kept her little for too long because “the last,” is hard to fathom. Whichever way it is, on any given day, we adore them all. So we listen to Taylor, LOUD, know we are enabling with ANOTHER stuffed animal and don’t get too uptight about it…at least today.

She directed me first to the consignment shop. On our way, we stopped at a busy intersection near a Burger King and the highway. On our right, a woman was walking, waving to each car. I looked and what appeared to be her husband and two small children sat in the grass, a sign explaining their need for food and shelter due to homelessness was propped up beside them. I am utterly ashamed to admit it, but my very first thought was, “shoot, I don’t want to make eye contact.”

These situations wreck havoc in my social-work-trained mind, my heart and the many pieces of advice and experience in our culture.

I have vivid memories of growing up in the Midwest and NOT experiencing the ravages and complexities of homelessness until I was on a family weekend in Chicago. As we walked our privileged selves to see Phantom of the Opera after eating at Gino’s East, we were asked many times for money, help or “a place to sleep.” My parents had tried their best to prepare their sheltered Caucasian kids, “don’t make eye contact,” tried to explain some difficulties with “giving money,” while also trying to honor helping others in the the name of Jesus. But nothing prepared me for the man propped up in a doorway, wearing clothes covered with dirt and holes, struggling to speak and holding a battered sign as we walked past. I am not sure if my parents whispered or if I realized on my own that the man also had cerebral palsy. I am certain I stopped and stared. I am certain seeds of fear were planted, “is this what happens as your grow up with this?” I was both terrified, horrified that this was indeed a real situation and sickened at injustice; this, awful, awful reality this side of Eden.

“Dad!” I tugged my dad’s arm as the crowd of people in Chicagoland kept moving past. “Dad, he has CP. And I think he peed on himself!” I cried, begging my dad to help him. It wouldn’t be the last time. My dad called my sister’s name, who was a bit ahead of us, but still near. She was carrying the coveted left-over pizza, had claimed it for her snack after the musical finished. He took the pizza, brought it to the man, set it in his lap and motioned for us to keep going.

Another time, we had driven to see my grandparents who lived an hour away for a pre-Christmas visit. The lights were bright and blinking, I was in the warm and lovely space of just seeing my grandma and suddenly, at a traffic light, a man yelled to people in the cars around us, for help. Tears streamed down my face as I heard my parents talking about calling the police, “he would at least be safe and have a warm place to sleep if they pick him up.” “Jail??” I thought, not understanding how that could possibly help him

. My dad, after trying to explain to me, poured hot coffee from the packed thermos into the mug he’d brought along, got out onto the busy, snowy street and as the man yelled, handed him one of our very familiar mugs. I watched, clutching a stuffed animal I had along and wondered how my dad would get his mug back. I think I started praying…that’s all I remember.

On yet another family trip, this time to San Diego there were countless experiences that I will not forget, both beautiful and life changing including one at Seaport Village that left a permanent mark on this heart God has given me.

We sat as a family eating dinner overlooking the ocean, the lights of the nearby carousel beckoning me in the dusky sunlight. It was dreamy and I felt like whole world was wide open to my teenage hopes and dreams. Suddenly, I looked out the windows in front of us and saw a man, bundled up in the California heat. He walked slowly, dreadlocks hanging in his worn face. I couldn’t take my eyes off him as suddenly he began digging in the garbage can in front of the windows where we sat. Tears instantly sprang to my eyes as he pulled an entire order of fries from the garbage and gobbled them like he had not eaten in a long time. I wept without control, pummeled instantly with a level of sadness and reality that I had no idea existed. I cried with a heart that was simultaneously terrified that people lived this way and the overwhelming desire to fix this man’s plight. It was a moment forever imprinted on my heart.

This was the feeling, now with years of life experience, but the same conflictedness, that came rushing back as my sweet daughter turned to me yesterday….

“Mama, we have to help them.” Her big eyes and heart were like looking in a mirror. My humanity thought, “I don’t know how…” The two of us in the car, safety, not sure about the situation and the realities crashing together with my daughter’s innocence, the innocence of the babies sitting on the grass with their parents and the overwhelming guilt that we were going to ULTA while they were in huge need….

I took a few deep breaths, drove slowly and prayed for God’s presence and wisdom.

It took a minute. My heart rate slowed. I explained to my love that I needed to think about it and she so patiently waited for my response….

I wanted to honor her, her desire and I needed to sit the wrestle I felt, trying to decipher the truth. I parked outside 5 Below, another deep breath…

“Trust me.” I almost audibly heard my Jesus whisper and wrap around me. Breathe…. “Trust…”

“Babe, let’s go get some things for them.” I said quietly to her and her face was so sure and beaming. “Oh mama, let’s!” She held my hand tight, helping me navigate the curb and entrance into the overstimulating store. We were five steps in when she knew EXACTLY what to do.

We filled a backpack with some basic supplies, her leading the way as I listened to her clarity and wisdom. Who was I to witness how God was using her?

She went to the stuffed animals. “This will be good for the baby! And the little kid will really like this!” She held up a zebra and a monkey. We lastly grabbed a few snack items, I handed her all the cash I had in my wallet and let her pay herself. Our items were nearly the exact amount I handed her. “Trust me…” Jesus seemed to whisper again to me, perhaps her and maybe even this family. We walked out and my sweet girl slipped her hand in mine again. “Mama, Jesus is SMILING right now!”

She filled the backpack while I drove back. The traffic swirled at that intersection and I prayed, “Jesus, use this moment, bless my girl and this family…” I couldn’t see the family for all the cars, but I carefully navigated to what I hoped would be a safe spot for us to give the backpack. I drove around the Burger King and there sat the family, all crowded under umbrellas, almost it seemed, to be waiting for us.

“I want to go, Mama.” I looked and my girl, so far beyond her years, was mouthing a prayer of her own. She took a deep breath as I put the car in park just feet from this dear family. She opened her door, stepped up to the mom who smiled and greeted her like a long lost friend.

“My mom and I bought this for you and your family. There’s toys for your kids. I hope everything in here helps you guys.” The parents both smiled, thanked us profusely, repeated, “may God bless your family.” As I sat there, the mom began to unpack the backpack, pulling out first the zebra and handing it to her smiling toddler. The small child broke into the biggest smile, hugging the zebra tight. My daughter climbed back in, waved and I could not control the tears that feel from my eyes, overwhelming my whole body. We backed out as they continued waving, eyes full of thanks. I sobbed, at my daughter’s faith, joy and leading. I cried for this family’s plight, wishing I could do so much more. I cried, out of my own shame and ignorance and God’s unending love and forgiveness.

“Mama, I have never felt this good. I think this is why we were supposed to come shopping today.” My little said in utter joy.

I have so much to learn. I learn so much from her and so many others around me.

Thank you for being such a picture of my Jesus, my daughter. You, change the world. You change me….

Thank you my Jesus for being patient in my ugly moments and for teaching me to trust you. Hold this family close, us all close and please keep making us each, more like you. I pray you are indeed, smiling.

Both/And

Psalm 13