Healing

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Help……

For all of her young life, she had managed, always striving to do enough, be enough. But today the worry was breaking her…..the crazy worry veiled in her smile, hidden in her brittle normal, mocking her helplessness, calling her “snitch”. Today was it.
An ugly, hurried voice answered. She drew her bravest breath and said,
“I have a question.”
Her mind went blank. Panic. A frozen pause (please don’t hang up on me),
“Umm, I’m worried about my mom.”
A loud sigh, “That’s not a question.”
Stammering, “I don’t know what to say.”
She began to cry.
An exasperated sigh, “What do you need?”
Eyes closed, she whispered, “Nothing” and disconnected.
For an instant, there was stillness. Then, the keening began, low in her chest, rising and widening until her insides splintered. Every terrifying night was in that cry, every exhausted morning, every moment that she had felt small, trapped. And buried well within her tears, the little girl who had hoped withdrew.

Help…..

He was waiting to be interviewed. There was nothing left to lose. The counselor had said that someone else might get through to his grandparents. What if she was right? They didn’t hurt him like his father had, but he was tired of living in his room; no TV, no books, not being allowed out except for school. He wanted to go to a basketball game, a dance, make a phone call, not be called worthless. At 15, he just wanted a little bit of a life. He ran away last weekend, at the mall. For a heart-stopping second, he had almost spilled his guts to the security guard who caught him. Almost.
A man sporting a badge strode into the conference room, smirking, “You ran away at the mall? What? They wouldn’t buy what you wanted? Had a little tantrum?”
He searched this man’s face, stained with disdain, and let his heart fall back to sleep.

Help….

They were going to freeze to death if she didn’t do something. All this time, she had hidden their need, so afraid of the system, of risking the reappearance of her child’s biological parents. She had custody but no relation; so the courts could easily dismiss her. If things stayed the way they were, she would lose her anyway. The cold, the hunger would be discovered.
A robotic voice spoke on the other end, “You have one child?”
“Yes, she”s 13.”
“She lives with you?”
“Yes.”
“And, her father?”
“Her biological parents left the area. I have custody.”
“She isn’t your daughter?”
“I’ve had her since she was born.”
“You didn’t give birth to her, correct?”
“No. But she’s mine.”
“Ma’am. You checked that she is your daughter. You didn’t give birth to her. You didn’t adopt her. Do you know what the penalty is for providing false information? You’ll have to redo this form and reschedule.
Panic rose in her throat, “No.” Stay calm. “This is an emergency.” Swallowing hard. “It will be too late.”
“I don’t handle emergencies. I can transfer you to that department. I wouldn’t lie to them, either.”
“I. Did. Not. Lie.”
In that moment, the years of being belittled, humiliated and confused collided with the fear of losing her daughter, HER DAUGHTER. She roared with rage, an impotent fury, and smashed her phone against the wall.

Help….

Are the served and the servant too much alike? One desperate for aid, the other bound to give it? Just as the helpee gets worn down by time and futility, does the helper weary of so many and never enough? Is the only safeguard a numb heart? A bitter one? I don’t know. But I do know this: When asking for help, no matter the answer, “Yes”, “No” or “Not yet”, a pound of flesh, a crushed soul need not be the cost.
Help is patient and kind; help does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Help bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
(based on 1 Corinthians 13: 4-7)

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