Testimonies

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¡°Hello. Is this Dan?¡±

¡°Yes.¡±

¡°This is Mary. You were at my house the other day.¡±

¡°Oh¡­yeah.¡±

¡°Listen, hon. I need some Pampers and some milk.¡±

¡°Pardon me?¡±

¡°My baby¡¯s done wet her pants. We¡¯re out of Pampers. She want some milk, too. My husband¡¯s not home right now. You know I cain¡¯t get out to the stores. Can you get some and bring it over? Please?¡±

Mary. She was in a wheelchair. She was black. I had been to her small apartment with a social worker as part of a newspaper story I was writing about a local organization that helped needy families. It was 10:30 p.m.

¡°Um, you need Pampers and milk?¡±

¡°Yes, hon. My husband won¡¯t be home ¡®til the morning.¡±

A yellow caution light flashed in my brain. I was instantly skeptical. Hadn¡¯t the social worker warned me about this? Some clients you meet might ask for money, she said. Don¡¯t give it to them.

But Mary wasn¡¯t asking for money. Did she have a husband? I hadn¡¯t met him. Did she have a baby? It must have been sleeping when I was there.

¡°Uh. It¡¯s kind of late right now.¡±

¡°I know, honey. I really need them Pampers.¡±

¡°I was in bed,¡± I lied. ¡°I don¡¯t have a car. Let me call you back.¡±

Where was that social workers¡¯ number? I dug it out of my notebook and phoned her home. She wasn¡¯t there. That¡¯s right, I remembered. She said she would be out of town for a few days. What to do?

There were some friends at my house. They were unanimous: Don¡¯t give her anything. My roommate agreed.

¡°You do this for her,¡± they said, ¡°and she¡¯ll call you again. These people need to learn to be self-sufficient. Life isn¡¯t a series of handouts.¡±

Yeah, but she doesn¡¯t want money, I protested silently. Why would she ask for diapers if she doesn¡¯t have a baby? What harm would it do to buy her these things?

The clock inched toward eleven. A decision had to be made. I caved in.

I don¡¯t remember the feeble words I mouthed, but I can still feel the disappointment in her voice.

¡°It¡¯s all right, child. I think my neighbor gonna help me out. Sorry I troubled you.¡±

Nearly 20 years later, I think of her again. The Bible tells us life is a series of tests. This is one I flunked miserably.

I can still picture Mary, a dark, heavyset woman sitting in a wheelchair with a white blouse, blue-white checkered skirt and a red bandana wrapped around her head. I have long since moved away from the area. Does she still live in the same apartment?, I wonder. Is she still married? Is her baby in college now?

I¡¯ve written thousands of newspaper stories. Why does Mary¡¯s stick in my mind? Because I didn¡¯t fail her. I failed Him.

Lord forgive me.

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