Monday, March 31
Chris drove aimlessly through the streets
of New York, resolutely ignoring the sullen silence and
occasional sniffles coming from the back seat. He loved his
kids, he did, but he just couldn't take their questions
any longer. No,
he didn't know where they were going to sleep. No, he didn't
know where they would get the money to buy dinner.
But those answers weren't good enough for a
three-year-old and a five-year-old, and by their third
repetition of the questions he had finally snapped at them
to shut up. He
regretted it almost at once, but couldn't bring himself to
apologize or rescind the order – he had to focus on
figuring out some kind of plan. Except his
thoughts kept going in circles, from his wife walking out,
to losing his job, to losing the apartment, to getting
kicked out of their most recent shelter for a fight
someone else's kids had started....
“Well, God,” he prayed viciously, “so much
for all those promises of 'plans to give us a future'! What kind of
plans do you have for us now? Kian and Elsie
growing up on the streets somewhere? Or is this my
sign that that woman at the shelter was right, and I'm
really not fit to be a father to them – and it's time to
accept that and let them grow up halfway normal in some
foster home somewhere, with people who can actually feed
them three meals a day?”
Though what I'll have to live for, once they're
gone, I'm not sure....
But no answer came, not that Chris was
expecting one. God
had been silent for a long time.
Chris finally pulled himself out of his
thoughts long enough to check the gas gauge and realize it
was getting low. He
still had fifteen dollars in his pocket – he could buy a
couple of gallons of gas and maybe still have enough to
buy some hamburgers to feed the kids a late lunch... and
then they'd be utterly penniless.
Chris pushed the thought away and
concentrated on looking for a gas station.
~*~*~
Ten minutes later, he was starting to get
concerned. The
gauge was inching ever lower, but the car had ended up in
some oddly-zoned part of the city without a single gas
station to be found.
“Kian, Elsie, let's play a game,” he
suggested with false cheer.
“The first one to spot a gas station gets to choose
a piece of candy for dessert!” The kids perked
up at that, but when another ten minutes had gone by with
still no sign of a gas station they were thoroughly bored,
and Chris was seriously worried. This didn't look
like a terrible part of the city to get stranded in, but
he wasn't about to leave two toddlers alone in a car while
he hiked off to go fill up a gas can.
Okay, new plan. He pulled up in
front of a random building that looked vaguely hotel-like. He didn't
recognize the name, but if they had a receptionist who
could give him some directions, that was all that
mattered.
Sure enough, he walked into a brightly lit
lobby and was immediately greeted by a man behind a
counter.
“Welcome to True Light! My name is
Arthur. Are
you looking for shelter for the night? Or lunch is
almost over, but we should still have some lasagna left.”
“Y-yeah, yes, I, how?” Chris gaped at
the man for a moment, then tried to collect himself. “That sounds
lovely” - and how long had it been since he'd last had
real lasagna? - “but we'll have to pass. I just stopped
in to ask for directions.”
“Of course,” Arthur answered. “I'm happy to
help. But are
you really sure you want to turn down free lasagna?”
“Free?”
Chris asked, and despite his pride he couldn't
quite keep the note of wistful hope out of his voice.
“Yeah.
Didn't you know – but no. Not if you
didn't come here looking for us. This is a men's
shelter. All
our services are either totally free, or we only charge as
much as our clients can afford. So I'll ask
again: would you like some lunch and a place to stay?”
Chris was feeling a
bit overwhelmed. “That
sounds... that sounds really great. Except – you
said men. What
about kids?”
Arthur smiled. “Bring them,
too. We've
got enough for everyone.”
~*~*~
The next half hour was incredible. Chris got the
car properly parked, then brought the kids into the
shelter's cafeteria, where, true to Arthur's word, there
were breadsticks, salad, and lasagna, enough for all of
them and more.
When lunch was over, Arthur asked them
again if they wanted to stay, and Chris quickly accepted.
“Right then,” Arthur announced as they
walked back to the lobby.
“We do have some paperwork to go over first. That'll get you
guys a room for as long as you need it, and then we can
also talk about the other services we offer – skills
training and job hunting assistance and the like.” He glanced over
at Kian and Elsie. “But
these guys are already looking a bit bored and we haven't
even started yet.”
It was true.
The two kids had started glancing around to see if
there was anything more interesting to stare at than a few
chairs and tables, and a moment later they found it and
took off running.
Off to one side of the lobby was a corner
of the room, separated from the rest of the reception area
by a row of low cabinets.
It was clearly intended as a children's play area,
for there were shelves of toys, games, and books, with a
TV set up in the corner and a stack of Disney and
VeggieTales DVDs next to it.
“Sounds like they know what they want to
do!” Arthur
grinned at them, then sobered a touch. “Now normally we
have a staff member available to supervise kids here while
parents are out working or going to classes, but we're a
bit short-staffed today and I'm it. Still, if you'd
be willing to forgo the confidentiality of having our
discussion in a private room, I think we could sit out
here and keep an eye on them ourselves.”
“That sounds great,” Chris agreed
fervently. He'd
given up caring about privacy months ago, and “I'll be
happier with my kids close by,” he admitted.
“Understood,” Arthur replied with a
sympathetic smile, then, heading over to the children,
offered: “Shall I show you around?”
Up close the area was even more impressive,
with every flat surface covered with interesting things. Items ranged
from stuffed animals and dolls for kids Elsie's age to
another corner fully equipped with dictionaries,
textbooks, and other homework aids for their older
brothers and sisters.
“You might be interested in this,” Arthur
mentioned, helping Elsie onto a chair by the biggest table
in the room, as Kian climbed up next to her. “It was just
donated today, which makes it so new we haven't even found
a place to put it yet!”
“It” turned out to be a big cardboard box,
like the kind Chris had packed his things into for that
long-ago move to New York to join Janice in her apartment
– the same apartment she had walked out of just a few
years later, leaving him with nothing but the two kids and
a mountain of unpaid bills.
Then Arthur opened the box and Chris
gasped, more recent memories overwhelming him. For years he'd
worked as an illustrator of children's books, using every
conceivable medium to bring the stories to life. But then the
author of Chris' latest project had rejected the entire
set of illustrations Chris had painstakingly crafted,
scornfully deriding his “utter lack of artistic vision,”
and Chris had seen red.
He had spent the next five minutes giving a
scathing critique of the story's insipid characters, trite
plot, and completely broken moral lesson. “I might have to
illustrate this thing, but I wouldn't read it to my kids
if it were the last book on earth!” his rant had ended.
Well, that had been that for that job, and
his savings weren't enough to cover more than a few weeks
of looking for another.
And when it didn't appear? Well, the
eviction notice had come and Chris had found himself
homeless on the streets of New York with two toddlers. Most of his
materials for illustrating had been sold off as they tried
to make ends meet for just a few weeks longer, and even
those handful that they still had left, well, what
homeless man – especially one who's also a single father – has the time,
place, or energy to do any serious art? All in all, it
had been months since Chris had last touched so much as a
colored pencil.
And now here was a box filled to the brim
with art supplies of every variety. In a single
glance Chris spotted a massive box of crayons, a whole set
of tempera paints and brushes to go with them, bags of
pipe cleaners and Popsicle sticks, reams of construction
paper, glue sticks, yarn, macaroni noodles....
Kian and Elsie's faces lit up as well,
obviously remembering back to the evenings when Chris
would let them play with some of his art supplies and give
them lessons in drawing simple animals or cartoon people. A few moments
later both were happily settled down with a stack of paper
and some markers and colored pencils to draw with.
Chris and Arthur found some chairs close
enough to glance over and see how the kids were doing but
far enough away not to be too distracted by the excited
giggles and squeals coming from Kian and Elsie. There Arthur
explained all the different rules and policies of the
shelter. There
were a fair number, but they were all sensible and
straightforward, so Chris promptly signed on all the
required pages, glancing over occasionally to check that
Kian and Elsie were still doing okay. Then they went
on to all the documents regarding the room itself that
they'd get, and from there the classes that True Light
offered or could provide transportation to.
“Actually, do you think there's an anger
management class I could take?” Chris asked, shamefaced.
But Arthur just nodded and quietly
responded, “It's alright.
Everyone struggles with something, but a lot of
people don't have the courage to admit what it is and ask
for help.”
And for nearly the first time since
everything began, Chris felt like this was someone he
could trust not to judge him; who wouldn't hear his story
and immediately think, “Ah-ha! It's clearly all
your fault! You
are a horrible person and deserve everything that happened
to you.” Yet
at the same time he did share some culpability in what had
happened. If
he had just recognized how bad his temper could be before
he had screamed at his wife, maybe this whole horrible
chain of events could have been averted. But he couldn't
change the past. All
he could do was take responsibility for it and then move
forward.
At Arthur's inquiring glance, Chris found
himself explaining his train of thought, and then pouring
out his whole life story, all the way to “and that's when
I walked in and you asked if I wanted lunch.” Arthur just
listened and nodded and made the occasional encouraging
noise, and Chris had the feeling that Arthur was listening
not as a social worker, but as a friend – and Chris hadn't
had too many of those lately.
When it was clear Chris was finished,
Arthur leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “I promise you
this: You and
your kids will have a place here as long as you need it,
and when you're ready to live on your own again we'll help
you with that as well.
We'll help you find a job, help you learn whatever
skills or coping techniques you need, and help you raise
your kids somewhere they can be safe and happy. No matter what,
we're not going to just abandon you.”
They talked a bit more after that, went
through a few more papers and added a few more signatures,
but Chris barely noticed.
After so long living in a constant state of fear
and anxiety, its sudden absence was overwhelming. They wouldn't
have to sleep on the streets. He wouldn't have
to give up his kids.
Come September, Kian would have a stable place to
live while he started kindergarten. Maybe he'd even
be able to find a preschool for Elsie. He was sure
she'd love it. She
always wanted something new to experience and learn about
and explore – but that had been in short supply while
shuffling from run-down motel to dreary shelter and back. The future,
which a few hours before had been about to end the moment
he spent his last handful of change on a gas station
burger, suddenly expanded to an entire horizon of
possibilities.
“Well, I think that was the very last
signature!” Arthur
clapped him on the shoulder.
“I'll just go file this in back and grab your key. Want to tell
your kids the good news?”
Chris grinned back, then stood and started
over to the play area.
Then, in a single moment, in a single
glance, all those hopes and dreams and plans and ideas
came crashing utterly down.
When he had last looked over at Kian and
Elsie, they had been coloring peacefully. But then he had
gotten wrapped up in the discussion with Arthur, and maybe
twenty minutes had gone by.
At some point during that time, the two kids had
apparently decided to investigate what else might be in
the box – and they had done so by pulling absolutely
everything out and spreading it over the entire room.
Chris' horror-stricken gaze swept over the
result. The
carpet was covered with a thick layer of torn and crumpled
construction paper, which was in turn covered in dozens of
trails of dripped paint and glue – many of which had then
been tracked around by tiny shoes or smeared on hands and
clothing. Uncapped
markers and broken crayons had been scattered willy-nilly,
as had the giant bags of pipe cleaners and Popsicle sticks
Chris had noticed earlier.
Handfuls of oil and chalk pastels had been ground
underfoot, and Chris spotted macaroni noodles that had
been scattered as far away as the tops of cabinets a
half-dozen feet over his kids' heads. And finally,
coating every surface and hanging in a thick cloud in the
air, was glitter – sparkling in the sunlight like a
thousand miniature, damning prisms.
After a long moment of stunned disbelief,
Chris zeroed in on the two culprits, sitting totally
unconcerned in the midst of the devastation, only just
noticing his presence and starting to look up with
innocent smiles. Elsie
was sitting on the table itself, happily grabbing handfuls
of brightly-colored beads from the piles heaped around
her, and carefully stringing them on a piece of yarn which
ended a short distance away in a snarl nearly as big as
her head. Kian
had found a set of small tubes of oil paints, and he was
methodically squeezing each one onto the table to check
its color, and then finger-painting elaborate designs
across every surface in reach.
Chris could barely believe his eyes. All the rules
Arthur had just gone over rushed through his head. Hadn't there
been something about uncontrollable children? Or just negligent
parents? Certainly
willful destruction of property was forbidden!
And what about the penalties? Expulsion,
certainly. Maybe
criminal proceedings as well? Sure, Arthur had
just told him that he wouldn't be abandoned, but
ultimately Arthur was answerable to a nationwide
organization – and major organizations tended to be pretty
strict about people breaking their rules – especially when
it involved the total ruin of hundreds of dollars worth of
donations in less than half an hour!
Chris' temper rose. They had been
safe. They'd
had a place to stay and food to eat and hope for the
future – and now it was all lost because his two idiot
children couldn't behave for twenty minutes! And now they
were about to be kicked right back out onto the street –
and Chris didn't think he could survive going back after
having had, even if just for a moment, the promise of
something better.
He opened his mouth to explain to Kian and
Elsie exactly what he thought of their behavior in
excruciating detail... and then he paused, mouth
still half open, as he registered that two men had come up
next to him.
“That is a very impressive mess,” the man
on his left observed gravely. “It reminds me,
John, of the time you and Yeshu attempted to repaint the
house and prepare dinner in the same afternoon.”
The man on Chris' other side protested,
“Surely we were much worse!
But then, we had several hours before you and
Maryam returned and discovered what we were up to.”
“Who are you?” Chris broke in. He meant the
question to come out belligerently; instead, looking at
the two men's perfectly relaxed expressions, it came out
rather bewildered.
“Ah! I
am sorry,” the first man apologized. “Please, call me
Yosef, and this is my nephew, John. And you would
be?”
“Chris.
And my two terrors over there are Kian and Elsie.” His anger
returned as he looked back at the wreckage. Kian had gone on
from finger painting and now appeared to be trying to make
his own confetti by hacking wildly at a sheet of foil with
a pair of scissors, not incidentally spreading the remains
of the paint all over the foil, the scissors, and himself.
Chris took a step forward, and his kids
looked back up. Seeing
the look on his face they blanched, and suddenly seemed to
realize how much trouble they were in.
“Chris?”
Yosef interrupted politely. “Would you be
able to assist me for a moment? I think John can
take care of helping the children to clean up.”
“Assist with what?” Chris'
bewilderment was back.
How can these two be so utterly unconcerned?
Yosef steered Chris back through the lobby. “I recently
helped John build a shelf, and we thought we might donate
it to True Light. But
it will take a second person to carry in and properly hang
on the wall.”
Chris was skeptical. “And True Light
is just going to let you randomly start doing construction
projects on their building?”
“I spoke with Arthur last week. And this will be
the perfect size to keep the messier art supplies out of
the younger children's reach, yes?”
The shelf was certainly large enough, and
really quite beautiful, but Chris wasn't quite ready to
let go of his aggression.
“And you just happen to walk in at the very moment
my kids decide to destroy an entire room after they got
into something they shouldn't have? Nice timing –
though if you had managed to show up half an hour earlier
you might have saved everyone a lot of trouble.” Chris gave a
bitter laugh.
“Everything in God's timing,” Yosef gently
reproved him. “Now,
if you can take that end, I will take this end and the
tools we will need.”
They carried everything back to the play
room in silence, and then Yosef spent several minutes
helping Chris figure out where to hang the shelf and then
find the relevant studs to attach it to. Chris' temper
was finally cooling, and his curiosity was reasserting
itself. Finally
he couldn't take it any longer and burst out, “How could
you be so... so calm, seeing this... this catastrophe?!” His out-flung
arm encompassed the entire room.
Yosef laughed kindly. “I, too, am a
father, and I have seen my own share of catastrophic
messes. It
also helps to remember that very few things in life are
truly as bad as they appear at first sight, especially
when you are already under stress.”
“If you say so.” Chris wasn't
convinced, but he couldn't help but prompt: “You said
something about John trying to paint your house?”
“Oh, yes.
That was a memorable day. My son, Yeshua,
was about the same age as your Kian, or perhaps a little
older, and John, who was a little older yet, was also
visiting us at the time.
Now my wife's parents had recently died, and so
Yeshu and John decided to do something to cheer her up. They eventually
settled on baking bread for her – except that they had no
experience with the task, and did not know what
ingredients to use, or how much of each.”
“Oooh,” Chris winced in sympathy, some of
his own cooking misadventures after Janice's departure
coming to mind.
“But that was not the only part of their
plan,” Yosef continued, pausing only for a moment to
double-check that the latest set of screw holes was
properly placed. “They
also remembered a journey we had taken a week or so prior. I was delivering
a pair of benches to a very wealthy family, and had
brought my wife and the boys along. Maryam, my wife,
had remarked on how cheerful some mosaics had made the
house look, and so my Yeshu decided to replicate them in
our own home. We
did not have any of the necessary materials, but Yeshu and
John determined to improvise – and so they raided Maryam's
collection of supplies that she used when weaving. By the time
Maryam and I returned home that evening, not only was the
house filled with smoke from the blackened bread, but
Yeshu and John had managed to cover the majority of the
house in a coating of flour, oil, figs, honey, and a whole
rainbow of poorly-mixed dyes!”
Chris laughed and cringed simultaneously. He could imagine
the scene all too clearly.
“So what did you do?
And pass me that screwdriver, will you?”
“Of course,” Yosef responded, then
continued the story.
“Well, we told the boys that we loved them, and
thanked them for their consideration in trying to cheer up
Maryam, but then explained why they shouldn't be using
Maryam's dyes without permission – or for anything except
dyeing cloth – and why they ought to learn how to
bake bread before attempting it on their own. Then we showed
them how to clean everything up, and then Maryam taught
them how to bake bread and I helped them find seashells
and interesting rocks, and we figured out together how to
make proper mosaics.
And they did brighten the house – the more so
because they were made with love.”
Chris focused on the carpentry for a few
minutes to let the story sink in. “I was going to
yell at my two,” he finally confessed. “I was going to
say something completely unforgivable and I would have
hated myself for it ever after but I would have said it
anyway, and my kids would never have forgiven me.”
“Nothing is truly unforgivable,” Yosef
disagreed, “and children in particular can be very
forgiving. Many
adults could learn from them. But still... I
am glad you did not say it.”
“Well, if it weren't for you walking in at
that exact moment, I would have.” Chris gave a
rueful laugh. “God's
timing, huh?”
Yosef paused in his work to look at Chris
intently. “He
loves you very much, Chris.”
“Yesterday I would've laughed in your face. An hour ago I
would've agreed wholeheartedly. Now? I dunno.” Chris shook his
head. “If
Arthur kicks us out for this.... I can't take
going back into the public shelter system, and I don't
think Kian and Elsie can either. And it's pretty
clear I can't take care of them on my own at this point. So what then?”
“Except you aren't going to be doing it on
your own,” Arthur spoke up from behind them as Yosef gave
one final turn on the last wood screw. “I said we
wouldn't abandon you, and we won't – and certainly not for
something as minor as small children acting like small
children. Anyway,
it's as much my fault as anyone's. I should have
suggested we sit closer, or wait on the paperwork
altogether until more staff arrived to supervise.”
“You're sure?” Chris asked in
disbelief. “But
what about all the damage?
We can't exactly repay you!”
“Actually, if you wanted to earn some extra
money painting murals around this place we'd love it, but
you don't owe us anything for this. Besides – take a
look.” And
Arthur turned Chris around.
Chris had always had an uncanny ability to
focus on one thing and tune out all other distractions. It was great for
last minute crunches before deadlines, but less so when it
came to keeping an eye on his kids. And now it had
happened again. Somehow,
in the space of him talking to Yosef and putting up a
shelf, John and Arthur had helped Kian and Elsie to make
the room nearly spotless.
Markers, papers, and beads had all been picked up
and put back in their packages. All the paint
had been wiped off the table – and the kids. The yarn had
been untangled, the confetti and glitter had all been
vacuumed up, and even the carpet had somehow been cleaned
of paint and ground-in pastels. It was frankly
miraculous.
Kian and Elsie each dropped one last armful
of construction paper scraps into the recycle bin, then
turned around and saw him watching them. They ran towards
him, then stopped a few feet away, suddenly shy.
“We're very sorry for making a mess,” they
recited, more-or-less in unison. They peered up
at Chris, clearly worried about his reaction.
Chris felt his heart seize. He never
wanted his kids to be afraid to come to him, and he made a
silent vow to do everything in his power to regain
– and then keep – their trust.
“It's okay,” he answered, his voice thick
as he dropped to his knees and held out his arms. “I forgive you,
and I love you both very, very much. Can you forgive
me for being angry at you and for not being a very good
daddy these past few months?”
Kian ran to his father's arms, and Elsie
followed a split-second later.
“Of course, Daddy!” “We love you,
too, Daddy!”
Chris looked up at Arthur, Yosef, and John
with tears in his eyes.
Thank you, he mouthed to them. They smiled in
return, and then he concentrated fully on just holding his
kids.
When the hug was finally finished, Chris
and the kids helped John, Yosef, and Arthur put the
remaining supplies (thankfully nowhere near as depleted as
Chris had feared) away on the shelf. As they were
finishing, Arthur got a thoughtful look on his face. “Elsie is three,
right? And
Kian's five?”
“Yeah.
His birthday was earlier this month.”
“So the right age for preschool. There's a church
right down the road that has a good preschool program, and
they've always been strong supporters of True Light. Would you like
to walk down there together after my shift is over in
another -” he checked the clock, “45 minutes? I think they'd
be happy to enroll Kian and Elsie for the rest of the
year, and it would give them a chance to spend more time
with kids their own age.”
“That sounds great!” Chris enthused. “What do you
kids think?”
“Fun!”
Kian shouted.
“Me, too!
Me, too!” Elsie shrieked.
“It's a plan.” Chris turned
towards Yosef and John.
“Would you like to join us?”
“Thank you, but no,” Yosef answered. “My wife will be
waiting for us. It
is time for us to be going.”
“Then let me at least show you out. And thank you, thank
you, for everything.”
“It was my pleasure to spend this time with
you.” Yosef
smiled at Chris. “God
has given you two wonderful children. Treasure them. And trust in
Him.”
“I will, and... I will,” Chris agreed
fervently. “Come
back and visit sometime, will you?”
“I would like to. Until then,
shalom.”
“Shalom,” Chis replied.
He watched as John and Yosef walked down
the street together.
John appeared to be showing Yosef a red cellphone,
and Chris could faintly hear him exclaiming, “You must
listen to this most amazing song, Yosef! I heard it in
the hallway as I was searching for a vacuum cleaner, and
the young man who was playing it kindly showed me how to
purchase a copy for myself!
The lyrics...”
John's voice trailed away as the two figures
receded into the distance.
Chris stood there in the doorway a moment
longer, and breathed a prayer of thanks to a God he maybe
did believe in after all, for sending him three such
extraordinary people.
Then he headed back inside to where his family was
waiting.
He glanced over at the colorful scraps of
paper filling the recycle bin and turned to the kids. “So, Kian,
Elsie, we still have most of an hour before we go visit
that church. Would
you like to learn how to make construction paper mosaics?”
Their answering smiles lit up the entire
room.
The End
Notes from Heather:
The verse Chris half-remembers is Jeremiah
29:11. “For I
know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans
for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a
hope.” (ESV)
I'm not entirely sure what the proper
relationship between Yosef and John would be – is there a
specific term for your wife's cousin's son? But if Joshua
calls John cousin, then it makes sense to me that Yosef
would refer to him as his nephew, for ease of description
if nothing else.
To make a
construction paper mosaic, use one piece of sturdy paper
as a background. Cut
up other pieces of paper into small shapes (triangles,
rectangles, etc.), then glue them onto the backing paper
to form pictures, leaving just enough space in between
the “tiles” to give the impression of mortar.