I don't know why I thought of this today, but the memory brought a smile to my face, so I figured I'd blog about it.
I am the second of seven children. One might think when I came along things were still pretty easy for my mom. Wrong. I was a colicky baby, only happy if I was held or given a bottle, or better yet -- both! Although I eventually grew out of the colic, apparently I was a bit of a handful as a toddler.
*Allegedly* I liked to have certain things a certain way (my way) and would cry if they didn't occur in that way. The phrases, "Go to your room, Emma" and "If you're going to cry, go to bed, Emma" were phrases I heard on a daily, if not hourly basis. In addition to the whiny-cry-baby terrible two's, I was fidgety. I couldn't sit still, or be content for very long and from the time I started talking I was an incessant chatter-box.
However, the "difficult" child in me did not stop my mom from having more children right away, nor from having them one after the other. 3 children under age 3 and pregnant. That is where this memory begins.
I can only imagine the chaos of getting 3 under 3 ready for church in the morning, then once there sitting quietly in our pew. When I was older and there were 7 kids under 8, people would tell my mother, "Your children are so well-behaved in church." I used to think, "yeah -- because she's threatened us with our lives." Haha. But as a 2 year old, I don't really know what people thought or how we acted. I know I must have been a handful though, because I was allowed to sit with other people.
The Bournes. The Bournes were a young, married couple that went to our church. They did not have any children for quite a few years, and for some reason took a liking to me. I remember turning around in the pew, my eyes searching the congregation for them each Sunday. As soon as I spotted them, they'd wave for me to come and sit with them. I would nudge my mother, point in their direction and wait for her approved dismissal, which was always a nod and the whispered admonishment, "fold your arms". Dutifully, I'd fold my arms and walk as quietly as I could to their bench and sit with them the rest of the service.
Then, there was "Chid". Sharon Chiddister was a single woman, close to my mom's age whom didn't have children of her own. Many Sundays she'd sit near my parents and I remember quite often sitting on her lap and her rocking me to sleep.
I don't recall how often those "helpers" in church came to my mother's rescue, but it happened enough for me to remember. The Bournes eventually had their own children and moved away. Chid remained in the area, and over the years has always found a family to sit near in church and help with their children. I remember one family moved in, with 2 small active boys. Then, the mother was expecting twins. Chid was there to help out every Sunday. This was a huge blessing for the wife, because the husband had Sunday duties that required him to sit up on the stand next to the Bishop. A few years after the twins were born, the wife became pregnant again - with another set of twins. When I went back home to visit this past summer, I noticed that even though those kids are all teenagers now, Chid still sits with them and she is still like a part of their family, and their dad IS the Bishop now so I am sure she is a great help!
As a teenager, there was a family in our church with 8 kids, whom I babysat quite often. I started babysitting when # 6 was born, and instantly fell in love with that baby. We sat behind them every Sunday at church, and I always held him or let him sit by me until I went off to college when he was about 4. Truth be told, I didn't even realize he was a handful, until his mother said something to me a few years later, about how she was always grateful for me helping her out on Sundays because he was such a handful.
In church now I lead the music on Sundays. I sit up near the organ and I can look out into the congregation and see who's sleeping (haha), which babies are crying, which children are acting up and which mothers are struggling. I do notice a few childless couples or families with teenagers sitting near families with smaller children and offering their help whenever possible. I can always tell that the mothers are grateful too. But, I've also seen a few others in the congregation shoot disapproving looks towards some mothers - as if to say, "Get your kids under control!" I was thinking this past Sunday when I saw one woman give such a glare, wondering if anyone ever thought that about my mom while I was being "out of control"? Made me grateful to those "Angels among us" who offered to sit near us and help out where they noticed a need. That is true Christianity right there, and of all places we should be living and carrying out our religious beliefs, you'd think one place would be church, right?
We don't know what always goes on behind closed doors, and although *WE* may think we know how this mother or that mother should discipline her children during church, and while we wish she could keep her kids "under control", don't you think that idea hasn't already crossed her mind too? I mean no mother in her right mind WANTS her child to act up and make a scene, right?
My kids are older now and aside of the occasional elbow-to-the-ribs or whispering or giggling with each other, they can pretty much manage themselves at church. Because I lead the music and sit up near the organ, and because I am a single parent, they sit up there next to me each Sunday. At first they were not thrilled with the idea, though I think they are okay with it now. I have decided through this experience, that when the time comes that I am not sitting up there leading the music, perhaps I can find a young mom with her hands full to sit near and be a "Bourne" or a "Chid"-- pay it forward or something like that.
Oh -- and for being such a "difficult" child, I think I turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself! :)
Showing posts with label angels. Show all posts
Showing posts with label angels. Show all posts
Monday, December 26, 2011
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Only Ten Dollars
Recently I received a check from the school. It was additional funds that were above and beyond the cost of my tuition and books for the semester. I am not rich. Not even close. So this little bit of extra money was appreciated. I decided that I would use a **little** bit of it to get my kids each something for their birthdays this year, and the rest I would use towards bills.
I decided to get them all three the same thing, and that I would get the gifts now and then hide them away until their birthdays (January, March and June). So, the other day I stopped in at SuperTarget and grabbed the said items. I was sort of in a hurry. And when I know **exactly** what I want, I mean it when I say, "I'm just gonna run in, grab this and run out."
Anyway, because I am in a hurry, I pick the shortest line. 2 people in front of me. The cashier was just finished ringing up this gentleman's order and proceeded to tell him the grand total. He is having a hard time understanding her English and she cannot speak Spanish. The cashier had already loaded his bags into his cart, and they were packed full of groceries. I am not sure how many mouths he has to feed, but my guess is a lot. The cashier is explaining to the man he doesn't have enough money. He is not understanding. She is pointing to the digital display, trying to explain once again that the amount of cash he had given her was not enough.
My first thought was, "Oh great! And I thought this was the SHORT line!" But then, I glimpsed my attitude in the face of the woman in front of me. She let out not one, not two, but THREE heavy sighs, adding a major eye-roll, which she turned and displayed for the rest of us as if to say, "Can you believe this???", and topping it all off with her hands-on-hips-I-am-too-important-to-have-to-stand-here-and-witness-this move. The lady behind me jumped on that ship and added two loud heavy sighs of her own, along with a rhythmic tapping of her undoubtedly, name-brand stilettos.
I realized that my being irritated was not going to help. I also realized that my initial feeling of exasperation was just about as ridiculous as the looks on these two ladies faces. At this point, the cashier decides that since he doesn't understand English, perhaps she could speak LOUDER, cuz that might just help. As she is explaining that he is about ten dollars short, he is digging in his pockets. The thought occurs to me that he doesn't even realize he is short. I think that he thought she was asking if he had the exact change. Like, if you have two pennies, etc. He digs in his pockets and turns them out empty. She then says, again VERRRRRY LOUDLY and now EXTREMELY SLOWLY, "YOU...DON'T...HAVE...ENOUGH...MONEY!" The man shakes his head "no". Again, I do not think he even understood.
Cereal. Spaghetti noodles. Oranges. Target brand diapers. Ground beef. Bell peppers. These were the items I could see peeking from some of his grocery bags.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The woman behind me clicked her shoes a little more loudly; each tap growing with intensity. The woman in front of me begins to look like a defective bobble-head; the constant shaking of her head from side-to-side. I could practically hear the clucking of her tongue.
Ten Dollars. He was short ten dollars. I had ten dollars cash, in my wallet. It wouldn't take away from **my** budget to give him the ten dollars. After all, this was *extra* money. Could I find a use for the ten dollars? Sure I could. Like I said, I am not rich.
However, just because I have never stood in a line at the grocery store as time stood still and glared at me for not having enough cash, doesn't mean I haven't ever stressed over being able to feed my family. I stress about it. All.The.Time. In fact, over the last two years, I have spent many a countless nights stressing over how I would pay this bill or that bill, or what I could make for dinner the next three nights with the few cans left in my cupboard. I cannot tell you all of the times I have felt like I could not handle just One.More.Thing. And it has been in times like these wherein somebody will have put an envelope of money in my mailbox, or a 20 dollar bill will have turned up in my old jacket, or someone else has brought me dinner or groceries, or let me "borrow" a can of diced tomatoes, a tub of cool whip or even a bag of chocolate chips. I cannot tell you the times I have come home to find my lawn magically mowed or my leaves mysteriously raked or my weeds pulled or my sidewalks and driveway cleared of snow. I am one person. How could I possibly "pay" each of these people back? Especially the anonymous ones...
Nonetheless, this man needed help. Right Now. He didn't have time to go home and see if per chance there was a ten dollar bill in an old coat. It was my chance to pay it forward. And the other thing too, I told myself, I KNOW where this money is going. He is using it to feed and care for his family. He isn't buying drugs or alcohol with it. He isn't gambling with it.
In reality, only about two minutes had passed. And yet, everything seemed slowed; the ticking of the clock filling the space of time, and the sighing and the tapping continued, each echoing a bit more.
"I've got it," I said, my own voice almost unrecognizable to me. I don't know why, but I was shaking as I reached my hand in my purse and fumbled to release the clasp of my wallet. The cashier and the two women gasped, almost in unison. The woman behind me looked at me with shock; the woman in front of me with disgust, and the cashier with disbelief. "I've got it," I said again, reaching out and handing the ten dollar bill to the cashier. I mean it was TEN DOLLARS! And it wasn't really even *my* money, really. I mean, it was given to me, but still.
I didn't like the looks on the women's faces and I decided that I didn't want others to see that in me. Instead I wanted someone to be able to look at me and see His image in my countenance. I wanted to be able to feel good about **finally** being able to help someone. Anyone. All of a sudden, ten dollars didn't seem like so much. I mean, really, with everything I have been given, and especially through the kind acts of others, it was **only** ten dollars. How could I NOT offer?
Isn't this what I want anyway? I asked myself. When I pray, often times I tell the Lord that I will be an instrument in his hands and that if there is anyone who could benefit from any service or deed that I could do, that I might be made aware of it. How do I NOT know that this may have been my chance to be *that* instrument. What if I would have ignored the prompting to help? What blessings or other opportunities might I have missed out on?
I know that some people would call me foolish or wasteful; saying that it wasn't *my* responsibility to help this man out, that he should have planned ahead a little better, or known his circumstance a little more. They may say that I wasted that money on someone else's family, when I could have used it for my own. I mean, that's about 4 gallons of milk right there.
I was still shaking by the time I got up to pay for my own three simple items. The cashier thanked me for doing what I did. I didn't really say much. I think my head was still thinking about all of this, in terms of my relationship with God. Then the cashier went on to say, "This is not the first time this has happened. He has come through my line before, and he has come up short before. It is sooo frustrating. Usually, I have to find someone who speaks Spanish to tell him to put something back."
I sort of gave her a half-nod as I took my receipt and goods and walked out to the car. I opened the door, sat in my front seat and began to sob like a baby. Not because I regretted giving up the Ten Dollars. Not because I felt like a do-gooder, though I did feel good about helping. But I was moved because this thought hit me:
How many times in my life have I come up short? How many times have I taken my case to the Lord in spite of feeling inadequate or unworthy to receive His blessings? And God doesn't say, "Again? This isn't the first time this has happened; you've come down this road before. This is so frustrating." God doesn't call the Savior in and ask Him to explain to us why we can't have what we just might so desperately need at that moment. He doesn't scold us, telling we should have planned a little better or known our circumstance more. No. The Savior paid the price for us. We are saved by His grace, after all we can do.
I am by no means trying to say that I think I was this guy's savior. But it hit me that this man gave all he had and was in need of someone to come to his mercy. Justice meant the items would have to be paid for. But Mercy meant that someone else could step in and pay the remaining debt, after all he could do.
I cried because at that moment it solidified for me, in my heart, how much my Heavenly Father truly does love me and that because He loves me He sent His son. And not only did He do that, but he continues to bless me through "Angels among us" who step in from time to time to bring me that bag of chocolate chips or shovel my walk. And sometimes-- sometimes He lets me know He loves me by letting ME have to opportunity to pay it forward.
Truly, it was only Ten Dollars.
I decided to get them all three the same thing, and that I would get the gifts now and then hide them away until their birthdays (January, March and June). So, the other day I stopped in at SuperTarget and grabbed the said items. I was sort of in a hurry. And when I know **exactly** what I want, I mean it when I say, "I'm just gonna run in, grab this and run out."
Anyway, because I am in a hurry, I pick the shortest line. 2 people in front of me. The cashier was just finished ringing up this gentleman's order and proceeded to tell him the grand total. He is having a hard time understanding her English and she cannot speak Spanish. The cashier had already loaded his bags into his cart, and they were packed full of groceries. I am not sure how many mouths he has to feed, but my guess is a lot. The cashier is explaining to the man he doesn't have enough money. He is not understanding. She is pointing to the digital display, trying to explain once again that the amount of cash he had given her was not enough.
My first thought was, "Oh great! And I thought this was the SHORT line!" But then, I glimpsed my attitude in the face of the woman in front of me. She let out not one, not two, but THREE heavy sighs, adding a major eye-roll, which she turned and displayed for the rest of us as if to say, "Can you believe this???", and topping it all off with her hands-on-hips-I-am-too-important-to-have-to-stand-here-and-witness-this move. The lady behind me jumped on that ship and added two loud heavy sighs of her own, along with a rhythmic tapping of her undoubtedly, name-brand stilettos.
I realized that my being irritated was not going to help. I also realized that my initial feeling of exasperation was just about as ridiculous as the looks on these two ladies faces. At this point, the cashier decides that since he doesn't understand English, perhaps she could speak LOUDER, cuz that might just help. As she is explaining that he is about ten dollars short, he is digging in his pockets. The thought occurs to me that he doesn't even realize he is short. I think that he thought she was asking if he had the exact change. Like, if you have two pennies, etc. He digs in his pockets and turns them out empty. She then says, again VERRRRRY LOUDLY and now EXTREMELY SLOWLY, "YOU...DON'T...HAVE...ENOUGH...MONEY!" The man shakes his head "no". Again, I do not think he even understood.
Cereal. Spaghetti noodles. Oranges. Target brand diapers. Ground beef. Bell peppers. These were the items I could see peeking from some of his grocery bags.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The woman behind me clicked her shoes a little more loudly; each tap growing with intensity. The woman in front of me begins to look like a defective bobble-head; the constant shaking of her head from side-to-side. I could practically hear the clucking of her tongue.
Ten Dollars. He was short ten dollars. I had ten dollars cash, in my wallet. It wouldn't take away from **my** budget to give him the ten dollars. After all, this was *extra* money. Could I find a use for the ten dollars? Sure I could. Like I said, I am not rich.
However, just because I have never stood in a line at the grocery store as time stood still and glared at me for not having enough cash, doesn't mean I haven't ever stressed over being able to feed my family. I stress about it. All.The.Time. In fact, over the last two years, I have spent many a countless nights stressing over how I would pay this bill or that bill, or what I could make for dinner the next three nights with the few cans left in my cupboard. I cannot tell you all of the times I have felt like I could not handle just One.More.Thing. And it has been in times like these wherein somebody will have put an envelope of money in my mailbox, or a 20 dollar bill will have turned up in my old jacket, or someone else has brought me dinner or groceries, or let me "borrow" a can of diced tomatoes, a tub of cool whip or even a bag of chocolate chips. I cannot tell you the times I have come home to find my lawn magically mowed or my leaves mysteriously raked or my weeds pulled or my sidewalks and driveway cleared of snow. I am one person. How could I possibly "pay" each of these people back? Especially the anonymous ones...
Nonetheless, this man needed help. Right Now. He didn't have time to go home and see if per chance there was a ten dollar bill in an old coat. It was my chance to pay it forward. And the other thing too, I told myself, I KNOW where this money is going. He is using it to feed and care for his family. He isn't buying drugs or alcohol with it. He isn't gambling with it.
In reality, only about two minutes had passed. And yet, everything seemed slowed; the ticking of the clock filling the space of time, and the sighing and the tapping continued, each echoing a bit more.
"I've got it," I said, my own voice almost unrecognizable to me. I don't know why, but I was shaking as I reached my hand in my purse and fumbled to release the clasp of my wallet. The cashier and the two women gasped, almost in unison. The woman behind me looked at me with shock; the woman in front of me with disgust, and the cashier with disbelief. "I've got it," I said again, reaching out and handing the ten dollar bill to the cashier. I mean it was TEN DOLLARS! And it wasn't really even *my* money, really. I mean, it was given to me, but still.
I didn't like the looks on the women's faces and I decided that I didn't want others to see that in me. Instead I wanted someone to be able to look at me and see His image in my countenance. I wanted to be able to feel good about **finally** being able to help someone. Anyone. All of a sudden, ten dollars didn't seem like so much. I mean, really, with everything I have been given, and especially through the kind acts of others, it was **only** ten dollars. How could I NOT offer?
Isn't this what I want anyway? I asked myself. When I pray, often times I tell the Lord that I will be an instrument in his hands and that if there is anyone who could benefit from any service or deed that I could do, that I might be made aware of it. How do I NOT know that this may have been my chance to be *that* instrument. What if I would have ignored the prompting to help? What blessings or other opportunities might I have missed out on?
I know that some people would call me foolish or wasteful; saying that it wasn't *my* responsibility to help this man out, that he should have planned ahead a little better, or known his circumstance a little more. They may say that I wasted that money on someone else's family, when I could have used it for my own. I mean, that's about 4 gallons of milk right there.
I was still shaking by the time I got up to pay for my own three simple items. The cashier thanked me for doing what I did. I didn't really say much. I think my head was still thinking about all of this, in terms of my relationship with God. Then the cashier went on to say, "This is not the first time this has happened. He has come through my line before, and he has come up short before. It is sooo frustrating. Usually, I have to find someone who speaks Spanish to tell him to put something back."
I sort of gave her a half-nod as I took my receipt and goods and walked out to the car. I opened the door, sat in my front seat and began to sob like a baby. Not because I regretted giving up the Ten Dollars. Not because I felt like a do-gooder, though I did feel good about helping. But I was moved because this thought hit me:
How many times in my life have I come up short? How many times have I taken my case to the Lord in spite of feeling inadequate or unworthy to receive His blessings? And God doesn't say, "Again? This isn't the first time this has happened; you've come down this road before. This is so frustrating." God doesn't call the Savior in and ask Him to explain to us why we can't have what we just might so desperately need at that moment. He doesn't scold us, telling we should have planned a little better or known our circumstance more. No. The Savior paid the price for us. We are saved by His grace, after all we can do.
I am by no means trying to say that I think I was this guy's savior. But it hit me that this man gave all he had and was in need of someone to come to his mercy. Justice meant the items would have to be paid for. But Mercy meant that someone else could step in and pay the remaining debt, after all he could do.
I cried because at that moment it solidified for me, in my heart, how much my Heavenly Father truly does love me and that because He loves me He sent His son. And not only did He do that, but he continues to bless me through "Angels among us" who step in from time to time to bring me that bag of chocolate chips or shovel my walk. And sometimes-- sometimes He lets me know He loves me by letting ME have to opportunity to pay it forward.
Truly, it was only Ten Dollars.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Where Have All The Men Gone?
I was dropping my oldest off at Jr. High the other morning as the snow pounded down around me in massive clumps. At the edge of the school parking lot there is this little dip in the pavement. Just as I am ready to exit, a car pulls away from the curb, right out in front of me. Pleb-Driver! I had to quickly apply the brakes and hope the now-empty van didn't slide. The good news? I didn't slide. The bad news? I was stuck.
Crap! If there was any time I missed having 4-wheel drive, it was now. I put my van in reverse and waited patiently for the brand new Durango behind me to back up a little. I was hoping to get more of a "head start" allowing me to "gun it" from the parking lot. I backed up in the teensy weensy little room the driver behind me allowed. Another Pleb! If she hadn't pulled up so close behind me to begin with, the car behind her wouldn't have pulled up so close, and so on and so forth.
I put my plan in motion and was at least able to make it out to the street. Well...sort of. I was half-way out of the parking lot and half-way into the street. Again. Stuck. I try to move forward. Nothing. I try to move backward. Nothing. What does the lady in the brand-spanking new Durango do? Surely, she'll get out and offer to push, right? Nope! She drives *AROUND* me. Well, she is a lady, I rationalized.
Surely, some MAN will stop and push. Otherwise, I will just continue to sit here, spinning my wheels, blocking both the parking lot AND the street. Nope. Three different men drive by and look at me like, "Hey lady! Do you know you're in the street!" I give a look back, like "No Shoot, Sherlock. How long did it take you to figure that one out?"
So where was my Knight in Shining Armor? Who was going to come to my aid and rescue a Damsel in Distress? Was I gonna have to actually exit the vehicle and flag someone down myself? For Pete's Sake, I hoped not. Afterall, I was in my PJs with no Bra on and hadn't brushed my hair or my teeth. Hey, in my defense, my brilliant plan was just to "quickly drop him off at school" and then head home to get ready for work.
Then an even bigger van pulled over. Guess who jumps out? You got it. A Woman! There you have it - my Knight in Shining Armor was a Woman! Well, certainly not to be outdone, a man in another van pulled over and he jumped out to help push as well. Still, the two of them could not set me free. Then a bus driver pulled his big yellow cheese wagon right in the middle of the street and he jumped out to help. Finally, they were able to rock me free. I yelled a quick "thank you!" from my open window and fled the embarrassing scene just as fast as one would expect a bra-less, bad-breathed psycho dressed in PJs to.
What's happened to men these days? Have we completely lost chivalry in all forms? Have we as women fought for equality for so many years, that men have become numb to their natural "roles"? Yes. I said it. Roles. I do believe that some things should be men's roles; helping Damsels in Distress being one of them. You bring me a man who wants to argue with that and I'll tell him, "I'm happy to trade you. You squeeze out the off-spring and I'll start holding doors open and fixing flats and pushing the bra-less psychos out of the snow."
So, did the men who stopped to help only do so because they couldn't bare to let their species be shown-up by a woman? Or perhaps the three of them came to help because they knew the burden of driving big empty vans or busses. No. Not this time. I think -wait, no -I know by the countenance in their faces that these three stopped because they are genuinely good, decent people. They certainly put those other men who passed me by to shame.
I do believe that there are angels out there among us. Some of the flesh, and some not. And some even to rescue bra-less, bad-breathed psychos in their PJ's driving big vans in the snow.
Crap! If there was any time I missed having 4-wheel drive, it was now. I put my van in reverse and waited patiently for the brand new Durango behind me to back up a little. I was hoping to get more of a "head start" allowing me to "gun it" from the parking lot. I backed up in the teensy weensy little room the driver behind me allowed. Another Pleb! If she hadn't pulled up so close behind me to begin with, the car behind her wouldn't have pulled up so close, and so on and so forth.
I put my plan in motion and was at least able to make it out to the street. Well...sort of. I was half-way out of the parking lot and half-way into the street. Again. Stuck. I try to move forward. Nothing. I try to move backward. Nothing. What does the lady in the brand-spanking new Durango do? Surely, she'll get out and offer to push, right? Nope! She drives *AROUND* me. Well, she is a lady, I rationalized.
Surely, some MAN will stop and push. Otherwise, I will just continue to sit here, spinning my wheels, blocking both the parking lot AND the street. Nope. Three different men drive by and look at me like, "Hey lady! Do you know you're in the street!" I give a look back, like "No Shoot, Sherlock. How long did it take you to figure that one out?"
So where was my Knight in Shining Armor? Who was going to come to my aid and rescue a Damsel in Distress? Was I gonna have to actually exit the vehicle and flag someone down myself? For Pete's Sake, I hoped not. Afterall, I was in my PJs with no Bra on and hadn't brushed my hair or my teeth. Hey, in my defense, my brilliant plan was just to "quickly drop him off at school" and then head home to get ready for work.
Then an even bigger van pulled over. Guess who jumps out? You got it. A Woman! There you have it - my Knight in Shining Armor was a Woman! Well, certainly not to be outdone, a man in another van pulled over and he jumped out to help push as well. Still, the two of them could not set me free. Then a bus driver pulled his big yellow cheese wagon right in the middle of the street and he jumped out to help. Finally, they were able to rock me free. I yelled a quick "thank you!" from my open window and fled the embarrassing scene just as fast as one would expect a bra-less, bad-breathed psycho dressed in PJs to.
What's happened to men these days? Have we completely lost chivalry in all forms? Have we as women fought for equality for so many years, that men have become numb to their natural "roles"? Yes. I said it. Roles. I do believe that some things should be men's roles; helping Damsels in Distress being one of them. You bring me a man who wants to argue with that and I'll tell him, "I'm happy to trade you. You squeeze out the off-spring and I'll start holding doors open and fixing flats and pushing the bra-less psychos out of the snow."
So, did the men who stopped to help only do so because they couldn't bare to let their species be shown-up by a woman? Or perhaps the three of them came to help because they knew the burden of driving big empty vans or busses. No. Not this time. I think -wait, no -I know by the countenance in their faces that these three stopped because they are genuinely good, decent people. They certainly put those other men who passed me by to shame.
I do believe that there are angels out there among us. Some of the flesh, and some not. And some even to rescue bra-less, bad-breathed psychos in their PJ's driving big vans in the snow.
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