Today at ICPM, Pastor Quinn told us the story of the Prodigal Son so beautifully that the tears rolled down my cheeks. How blessed are we to have a God who loves us so unconditionally?!
But when I was passing out lunches after the service, it was another of the characters from Christ's parables who actually showed up... or so it seemed...
It began when I handed a lunch to a woman who told me her sister wasn't feeling well. "She's having a hard time breathing." She pointed to where her sister stood swaying on the sidewalk with eyes closed and a chalk white face. My heart hurt to look at her.
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| Photo by Adrien Ledoux on Unsplash |
"Should I call an ambulance?"
"Could you call a cab instead? And can we use the washroom?"
"Yes to both questions. Can someone give me a cab company phone number off the top of their head?"
A fellow piped up with a number, and I placed the call as I shooed the women into the building and toward the washroom. Pastor Quinn grabbed them some clean clothes, and the dispatcher told me the cab would arrive within ten minutes.
Four minutes later, a cab pulled up across the street, and my phone rang. I assured the driver that his passengers would be just a few minutes, and left my post at the sandwich table to knock on the washroom door and tell the women their cab was already waiting.
Ten minutes later, the cabbie called again, so I walked across the street to his car to explain the situation, saying, "They are just changing clothes so they will be clean in your car."
"Oh no no no no no," he said. English was likely one of several alternate languages for him, so I tried to explain again using different words.
"My work is hard," he said. "These people have troubles, yes. But I need to make living. I can't have dirty people. I can't have people who not pay. They not pay me. I have struggles from them. My work is hard."
"I am sure it is," I said, my heart hurting for him, too. "I know you are doing your best. These ladies need your help. If I had money in my pocket, I would pay you," I told him. "But my pockets are empty, and they need a ride to the hospital."
He softened a bit. "You not pay," he said. "You not ride."
But as the two passengers came to the cab, it seemed that changing clothing in such a hurry meant that one was falling out of her newly supplied sweatpants.
"No no no no no," the driver pleaded with me. "I cannot have her in my car." To her, he said, "You not dressed right. You not covered enough. And who pay me?"
"I will," she said. "We're not feeling well. Please, we need a doctor."
"She's wearing clean clothes," I assured him, and turned to adjust her waistband so it sat properly. "There, that's better, right?"
The cabbie sighed, put on his mask, and got out of his vehicle.
"Please," he said to the women, "Put things in my trunk." They complied, and as they helped each other into the car, I hurried back to the sandwich line. I hope everything worked out for the best.
At the end of the morning, on my way home, I found myself praying:
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