Come Before Winter – Chapter Twenty-Two – the One
December 22nd, 2021
2 Timothy 4:21, “Do your utmost to come before winter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – the One
She is powerless to help herself. Mercy is a bright girl: did well in school, never got into trouble, kept to herself but was kind to others when spoken to or included, willingly helped even a stranger in need. She had never considered herself jaded, or a jug half empty kind of girl, nor half full or spilling over; she was simply realistic yet hopeful. But this last luck of the draw, having not only been a total bust, but like flat-out being booted from the game, was it. Nope, not today, became her motto, as day after day dawned in a foreign place to her, feeling as if she were captive in a one room prison. She dreamed in color of someday getting herself out of this city and never looking back, but her money dwindled, and she admitted the light had died which lit the passion once leading her to this place to search for the missing pieces of her life. She no longer cared, and she didn’t want to find anyone from her past; it hadn’t gone over so great when she had stumbled upon her mom. Why would anything else going any smoother?
The day finally came when the landlord banged on the door, reminding her rent was due. She knew by the thunk of knuckles on wood and the rap-rap-rap who was at the door, and Mercy buried her head in her pillow. She hadn’t showered in close to a week and had sat in the dark with her phone shut off over the Thanksgiving holiday, and she knew what she needed to do. Hesitantly, after attempting to ignore the rapping at the door, she stood and shuffled her way toward the insistent knocking. Cracking the door, she shoved a twenty-dollar-bill through, and said in a raspy voice. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll be out tomorrow. It didn’t go here as I had hoped it would. Please let me stay one more night, sir.’ The man on the other side of the door grunted in reply, and it was just another sign to Mercy, she had worn out her welcome and it was time to go.
Mercy determined about three o’clock in the morning that its pretty senseless to try to sleep when your mind is wide awake. She met herself coming and then found herself going, and the entire night, her mind was playing on jungle gyms and studying for life-exams and taking quizzes that would surely affect her future. She wasn’t certain where she was going to go but it wasn’t here any longer. She left before the sun came up, condensing all she most cared about in her backpack and a duffle, grateful she hadn’t brought much stuff to Colorado in the first place. Maybe someday she’d get back to the other objects that once defined her, but being a foster kid she had always traveled light, and she wasn’t tied to much: a journal, a small pocket Bible Patsy had given her, the letter from her dad pleading with her to come before winter, some clothes. As she stepped out into the awakening day, her breath tangled itself around her, making little puffs of cold air resembling thought bubbles. Mercy giggled, so very delirious and discouraged and mixed up as she set one foot in front of the other, no idea where she was headed.
Mercy’s first homeless night was a shock to the system. She could not believe this is where she found herself at. But then she had to admit, she was the reason why. She realized the day a person stops caring, everything changes, and it can wash downhill like a mudslide just like that, making its own path of destruction. If she were truly honest with herself, she didn’t have to be here, but suddenly the punishment felt like a reward. Like she was finally giving in, forever battling always being copacetic no matter what life hurled at her, never complaining, just taking it on the cuff. By goodness, if she chose to feel sorry for herself and give up on life that was her prerogative. Who knew? Perhaps she’d even still sleep out beneath this overpass and whittle away the time like an old man carving out time on a hunk of wood, determined to leave his mark just as she was determined to make a statement. Finally.
Wow, though, statements were costly sometimes, and this time they were frigid too. She wandered the streets by day, tempting fate to cross paths with her father, and by night, Mercy hunkered down in any hole she could find to curl into, her sleep restless but welcome as it ate away at a part of her life one fitful hour at a time. She learned quickly to sleep with one eye open and everything she owned beneath her because the night ravaged and robbed what little the homeless owned. You paid dearly sometimes for a doorway, any cubby you might lay claim to where you could call it home for a minute. She taught herself to be wise, always knew her street smarts would come in handy someday.
Just as Mercy thought she might be settling in and getting used to her new way of life, she was visited again by the man in her dreams. Her sleep patterns in order to protect herself were like pitstops she ducked into momentarily. Suddenly, she could hear the bleating of a multitude of lambs. The hillside she had come upon was lush and green and little wildflowers dotted the horizon. The wind blew through lofty pine trees and the scent was thick in the air. Lambs were frolicking but they had carelessly wandered closer and closer to the edge of a very steep cliff. Mercy tried to yell and wave her arms in order to frighten the lambs from falling over the ledge, and in her panic, she looked everywhere to see where their shepherd was. But he was nowhere to be found! She began crying, terrified that if one little lamb went any closer and fell off the cliff, all the other little lambs would follow. She found herself running, running to save them, and just as she neared the berm, the kindly old man with the weathered life about him, walked up over the precipice, cradling one tiny lamb in his arms. ‘What about all the rest?’ Mercy cried, alarmed. ‘What about them?’ he asked. ‘Only one needed rescued,’ he answered softly. And wildly, she woke up, cradling her backpack in her arms as if she had something valuable to protect.
Matthew 18:12-14, ‘”What do you think? If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them gets lost, will he not leave the ninety-nine on the mountain and go in search of the one that is lost? And if it turns out that he finds it, I assure you and most solemnly say to you, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that did not get lost. So it is not the will of your Father who is in heaven that one of these little ones be lost.”’ (AMP)
To Be Continued…
