Family In Need

It was the cardboard sign attached to her back, written in red paint. I always look at these people closely, the ones begging at intersections and red lights, the ones who make me feel uncomfortable. Do they look needy enough? I never believe those whose tennis shoes are newer and more expensive than my four year old Nikes.

As a person who drags my butt out of bed to go to work every day, I really had problems with people begging. Then, I became a single mom. A single mom who the courts let down by refusing to issue child support to – twice. You think it doesn’t happen, try getting divorced in Lawrence County. I still work – everyday. And, I do jobs after work to bring in money. My home is a trailer, my credit cards paid; yet with the ins and outs of doctor bills and everyday life, we barely survive.

There have been times in my own life when I have prayed that God would allow others to see my need. Times when I have made others aware of my need. I’ve now seen others look at me and feel uncomfortable. Couples at church thrust money in my hand and tell me they love me. Others look away and say I should just get another man or should have chosen better the first time. Some, those childless people who don’t see beyond the money issue, direct me to just make my son’s father take him. To give my son up just because of money? The thought horrifies me and I’m grateful these people don’t have children themselves.

And then I began to see them. Women begging for their family. Until this summer I have never seen a woman begging. It made me angry at first: How dare she make me feel uncomfortable? How dare she look me in the eye and ask for help? How could I possibly help? At the end of any given month, I’m down to my last five bucks. I know the value of five dollars. On five dollars I can feed myself and my son for two days and a breakfast. I drove past the first two women I saw begging, yet their images wouldn’t leave me.

I was once standing on the side of the road. In five days the Chevy truck I was driving would be taken from me. I would be divorced. All the money gone from the bank account, I was out of gas. Tearfully, I began walking. I stood by a stop sign and watched as the passing cars eyed me curiously, noting the red gas can in my hand. A policeman passed me twice, looking away each time. I felt surely he would be my hope, my help. Yet he refused to see me. The three dollars in my pocket bought a gallon and a half of gas. I headed home, saddened more by those who refused to help than by my plight.

I learned something the first moment I saw that woman in the black shirt and torn shorts wearing flip-flops, standing by the road, a cardboard sign resting against her thigh: Family in need. I’m blessed. I’ve never been reduced to the cardboard red painted sign. I always pull over now, rolling my window down and asking, “Ma’am, do you need some groceries,” handing a bag of five dollar’s worth of food out my window. Ever grateful they answer, “God bless you.” Yes, I am blessed.