To get real help, you've gotta get REAL

Santana showed up in Tent City about a month ago.

She'd been homeless following her release from jail on a drug trafficking charge.

Hardened criminal? Hardly.

She mailed some Tramadol and Soma pills to her daughter through the mail.

Illegal, absolutely. But I couldn't help but feel that the charge was excessive. (I obtained copies of her complete criminal history. There was no "more to the story" component. She mailed 12 tramadol pills- think 4 Aleves- and 8 Somas- muscle relaxers- to someone other than who they were prescribed.)

Now I had a few disagreements with my husband and others over this. Most believe that it didn't matter WHAT the drug was- she broke the law. I don't disagree- she WAS wrong. I just can't believe a lawyer (not a public defender, an actual she-lost-her-money attorney) couldn't get her in some type of pre-trial, first-time-offender program. She served four months over prescriptions I'd have tossed in the trash.

That said, I wasn't about to let her know I felt that way. She already was playing the victim. And scheming and scamming to get someone to pay off her $2000 fine so she could go back home to Illinois.

Our number one rule is we don't pay fines and we don't bond out.

But she was going to try to get us to break that rule.

She came to church three times.

I could tell she was closed off, but that wasn't uncommon. Sometimes it takes awhile to trust and I had the time.

First, we were going to seek legal assistance. Perhaps she could do community service in exchange for fines.

That's when I got a copy of her records. She'd had money to bond out after her arrest and money to pay an attorney. No-one was going to waive fees.

So then I called the Salvation Army.

She'd already been there, and left on her own so she couldn't return for 30 days.

I asked her why, and she said it was because they had to leave during the day and she didn't have anywhere to go.

So you move to the woods? It made no sense.

She wasn't drinking OR doing drugs. Of this, I'm sure. Not only because I saw her frequently, but because no-one ever saw her drink or use drugs. And not that people in the woods are always honest, but it is like a kindergarten class of tattletales. The woods hold no secrets.

When the couple who'd been watching out for her got an opportunity for housing, she came unglued. She was panicked and I looked past her anger to her fear and tried to help.

I got the Salvation Army to waive their 30-day requirement to let her come back. I also put her in touch with a woman's shelter where she had the opportunity to get a job and pay her fines back. I spent a few hours on the phone making arrangements and was relieved to find some options for her.

Less than 24 hours later, I called to tell her only to find out she had manipulated the other woman's brother into paying for her to go to a hotel room for a few days.

"What are you going to do after that?" I asked her.

From the hesitation in her voice it was obvious she hadn't even considered past the next day. "Uh, um..then he'll get another check and pay for a few more days, I guess."

Then came what felt like a kick to my stomach. "I thought you and your husband were going to help me."

Then came MY hesitation. I couldn't very well say what I wanted to. (If only I'd learned THAT lesson years ago!)

"Umm, I thought that's what WE were doing." I refrained from rattling off the list of things I'd done so far, from transportation to meals to running her mail she'd started sending to my house.

It dawned on me that she didn't want help. She wanted to be bailed out. She didn't want to pay the consequences of her actions. Whether I agreed with the court's decision or not, she had a mess to clean up and all I could do was hand her a mop. I'm not the maid.

"Santana, we don't pay fines and we don't bail people out. That's our ministry's policy," I told her.

I am pretty sure I'd already told her that, but this was the first time she heard it. Her goodbye was quick... and final.

I've never minded people coming to church for the wrong reasons because they usually end up staying for the right ones. But this one wouldn't be back. I couldn't help but feel played.

I relayed the conversation to my husband later that evening.

I wasn't hurt; I didn't take it personally. I guess I was a little confused. No matter what shape a person is in, I almost always connect on SOME level. At least for a moment, if nothing else.

But with Santana, it was always a game.

My husband, whose wisdom and guidance I've come to count on, summed it up perfectly.

"Don't worry about it. She didn't want help. To get REAL help, you've got to get real. She never did."

Sad, but true.

But I don't dismiss souls. So I pray that somewhere in there a seed was planted and the Lord will send someone else to minister to her.

At the Master's Feet

Despite the fact that every client at the Pasco Home STILL asks about what the dogs said to me that day (see The Mic Dropped...and went thud! for details on my poorly worded sermon about revelations from the Lord), I am going to share another profound revelation brought to me via my fur-babies.

I was working on the computer, still playing catch-up after my week in Kansas for my grandmother's funeral, when I went to the kitchen to get a drink. My husband was studying at the kitchen table when I noticed Rascal at his feet.

Rascal, so named for his propensity to get into EVERYTHING, rarely sits still. He is definitely the doggie version of my son Cody, who also got into everything as a boy. Forgoing the crawling stage, Cody went from scooting to climbing and never slowed down. Except maybe on school mornings in high school. I'm pretty sure the ALS Ice Bucket challenge was devised by a mother of a teenaged boy.

Rascal is no different. The moment he was born he was alert and feisty. When he finally learned to stand on his legs, he bypassed the others taking their first wobbly steps and took off in a full run.

He was a rascal, all right.

And today was very uncharacteristic of him.

For one, he was still.

Not thinking, I blurted out, "Look at you, all still at your master's feet."

The revelation was immediate.

How much trouble could he get in at his master's feet? What safer place could he be than at his master's feet?

Why do we stray so far away then blast the Lord for our struggles?

If only we could learn to stay at His feet.....

Precious in the Sight of the Lord...

Precious in the sight of the Lord are the death of His saints...

He must be doing some rejoicing right about now as Nell has joined Him.

She'd been ready to go for a year, maybe even twenty as that's when she lost the love of her life, Floyd, but she soldiered for over two more decades, welcoming new generations and devoting her life in service to the Lord.

She was beautiful, inside and out, and I was honored to call her Grandma.

I just got back from her funeral in Kansas, a long trip I never imagined not taking.

Of course I would be there.

Just as she'd been there for me my entire life.

Not a birthday went by without a card and a check from my Mema. Graduations. Christmases. New babies. She honored each and every milestone for every child, grandchild, and great-grandchild in the family.

As the years went by the notes on the cards got shorter but they never stopped coming.

Not even this last year when she was diagnosed with cancer.

They gave her just a few weeks.

We prepared to lose her right away.

We expected the pain to be devastating.

But she rallied right on, crediting her prayer warrior friends with her pain-free days.

And her numbered days were multiplied.

She lived another year, ten months past doctors' estimations.

Her three boys, separated only by geography, were able to care for her in her own home the entire year.

I can only imagine the joy she must have felt having all of her kids back home.

I think I've been with all four of my kids at once just twice in the last five years so I know what a blessing that is.

Her death brought even more of us together. All of the aunts and uncles, my sister and her family, my three cousins and their families, and my girls were all there to celebrate the life of a wonderful matriarch who not only loved us but loved the Lord.

Her service was beautiful and was a testimony to the life she lived.

I pray that one day we will all be together again in Heaven, eating her spaghetti and meatballs and playing a game of Back Alley.