My Strength & My Shield / psm28:7

16 - Helen

She has white curly hair though you don't often get to see it because it's usually hidden beneath a faded head scarf. From early spring to late fall, she wears a pink windbreaker that's so worn out, there's hardly any color left in it. Fifteen degrees or 105 - it makes no difference. She's tucked neatly inside the windbreaker and scarf. 

She's small - not much bigger than my mom was. Gosh, she reminds me of my mom although she's not quite as hunched over. She has that same round look about her; huggable, like a precious jewel you want to take special care of. She must be a mother. She carries herself like one. It's a distinct look that comes with raising children. I have to think she's raised her fair share of them. 

She's out there almost daily. The only time I don't see her is if I have to work late. But if I get off work at five and head straight home, I'm bound to see her. I thank God I can see her. What would I be if I couldn't? 

I have brother, Vann, to thank for my sight. He taught me to see... to see the people around me. To slow down long enough and take in those that I don't see... even though I do. So it's my turn to teach my daughter to see. 

I don't know this woman's name, but I know God has called me to learn it. For now, when we drive by, I just say, "There's our little old lady," and I point her out to my daughter. Thankfully, she sees her too because on other days, she says, "There she is, Mom." I tell her that I know God wants me to do something, but I'm not sure what? I mean, we've seen her picking up trash along Sayles for years. We've seen where she turns up South 27th and then north onto Buffalo Gap. But one day, we're lucky. No... one day God reveals where she lives. We see her walking up her driveway after trash detail is over. 

What are we going to do with our newfound knowledge now that we see? Do we give into the fact that we're busy, tired and weighed down by homework or that I need to get supper on the table? What to do. Hmmm. 

Mother's Day. I've looked at the small home every time we drive that way, and there's never another car - never any visitors. At the store, we buy a potted mum - a yellow one - nicest one in the nursery. We pick up a card too, signing it with our names. 

A little nervous, we knock on her door. A little nervous, she opens it, peering out at us through the screen. We tell her how we see her every day, picking up trash around the block where the post office is, and we wanted to thank her for doing that. She waves it off as nothing, but she's happy for the plant and card. We thank her again, and we leave. We leave her with the piece of rice stuck at the corner of her mouth that she doesn't realize is there. But that's okay. Half-way home, I realize I didn't even ask for her name. I'm so bad about that! I've got to remember that names are important! 

Work's done for the day, but I have to drop some mail off at the post office. My little old lady is making her rounds, but just as I've seen her do a dozen times, she stops at the corner of 27th and Buffalo Gap as if in a trance. Gazing westward, she doesn't move. I wonder what memory touches her at that corner every day. Why does she always stop in the same spot, looking towards the sun? 

Still too far away from the post office, I drive around the block until I know I can time it just right. She's almost to the spot where I've parked. I get out of the car and say hi. A little nervous, she looks at me not all that sure she wants to say hi back. I remind her about the plant and immediately, she perks up and comes to me without hesitation. 

I ask her what her name is. "Helen," she says. Does Helen have dinner plans for Sunday? Yes, she's going to see her sister at a local apartment complex. Her sister's name is Mary. And then she's off, mid-conversation, to finish up trash detail in her pink windbreaker and white head scarf. The little piece of rice is gone. 

It's colder now with winter coming on, and Helen has a bright purple winter jacket and the same head scarf. We buy her a nice colorful winter scarf for her to wrap around her neck to block the north wind and the softest pair of winter gloves we can find. We get a similar one for Mary too. She opens her Christmas gift behind the same screen door, and she tells us we didn't have to do that. She likes it that Mary's going to get a present too. 

I don't know how long we have. I know one day, Helen won't be where Helen's always been. But it'll be okay because at least we saw her, and she's made a difference in our lives. I sure hope we've made a difference in hers.

The King will reply, "I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me." (Matthew 25:40)

Note: After not seeing Helen for a month, I drove by her house. The downed tree was removed, the grass cut, and a man was outside in the driveway. I stopped, and he told me he bought the house from an agency and had never met the owner. I can only assume that Helen has gone away, but she will always be a part of our hearts.