Her name was Shirley Faye Early although I didn't know that when I saw her.
As I drove back to the office after a relaxing lunch hour, I passed her as I took my turn by the Mexican restaurant as I do every day. A few minutes early, I planned to clock in and regain a few of the minutes I had lost by being late this morning-as I am almost every day. But as I saw the little lady, dressed in red, hands full of grocery bags walking feebly down that street, my eyes took a second glance and then my heart began to pound. And that's when I knew this was my chance-my chance to make a difference.
Since most of you readers aren't part of my everyday life, I'll fill you in. Lately my prayers have been all about making a difference. Yes, I stay busy and yes, most of the things I do to stay busy have to do with God's work. And while I realize that church work does make a difference, my desire is to actually make a difference for individuals-to shine Jesus' light for them to see. Which is how I met Shirley Faye Early.
So as I found the nearest semi-circle drive, a million thoughts ran through my mind. My mom and her stories of picking up pedestrians who appeared in need... The countless warnings she and my dad had given me when I started driving about picking up strangers... But none of that mattered now. I knew I was meant to pick up that little, feeble woman. I turned around and pulled up beside her on the side street she was now walking. I could smell that she hadn't had a good bath in days and she was missing most, if not all of her teeth but the way she called me "dear" broke my heart for this kind woman. After accepting my offer for a ride, she showed me her right hand which had numerous stitches along the proximal joint of her pinky finger and explained that she had to be careful and that's why she was walking so slow. She directed me to the apartment complex where she lived and even helped me dodge the potholes along the street that ran in front of it.
As we pulled up to the row she lived in, I offered to help her get the groceries in (including the loaf of bread that had been mashed during the first part of her trek home) and we made our way to her home-a small one bedroom, one bath musty-smelling apartment. It appeared clean, just cluttered with artifacts that evidenced a full life history. I was only there briefly and didn't take much in but as I told her thank you for allowing me to drive her, I asked her name.
"Shirley, Shirley Faye Early," came the reply and I felt her arms wrap around me in the tightest embrace I've felt in a long time.
"God bless you, Ms. Early," I responded as I headed out the door. "You too," was her response and I uttered a "see you later" and was gone.
Why this seemingly small incident has affected me to such depth, I have no idea. Except that I know it was a "God moment". I truly believe He used this event to remind me of my passion for serving others-even in the smallest of ways. Sure it cost me about 5 minutes of my time and a little effort but other than that, this favor was free. It didn't even incur a gallon of gasoline. So why am I not doing these things more often???
Because I'm selfish. I'm spoiled. I'm self-absorbed. I go through my daily routine and do what pleases me, what makes me happy, what satisfies me. And I get defensive if I start feeling prompted to do more because "I'm already sacrificing so much for the church." Here's the thing though: God doesn't need me to save the church; He needs me to save the lost. Churched people have already found Him, or at least are on their way and have found a safe refuge with the opportunity to do so. But people in the world are far more vulnerable to Satan and his lies and deceit. So I must be His hands and feet. I must speak His words and give His hugs. I must give the gifts of hope and joy to a dying and depressed world. Not only does it help those who are searching but it fulfills me.
And through the help of my Jesus, my minute efforts can be grandiose gestures for the Shirley Faye Earlys of the world.
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