Finding Your Way Home

My homeless friend appeared weak as she sipped on a Gatorade. She turned to me. “I’ve tried to stay dry, but it gets so humid lately.”

I asked, “Are you okay? You look a little pale. Are you sick?”

“Something’s bothering my stomach.” “Let me go to the store. I’ll get something to calm your stomach.”

After driving to the store, I returned with several bags: some crackers, pink medicine, Sprite, and tissues.

As I approached, she pointed. “What out for that guy. He’s been watching me.”

“Oh my! I hate snakes.” “He’s a little green snake. He’s just watching us,” she said, opening a package of crackers.

I backed up. “And I’m watching him. I don’t think I can sit here with a snake.”

With that, my friend uncurled from the ground, wobbled to an open spot, and motioned for me to join her. I could see the little guy across the field, and thankfully, he never moved.

We then discussed her childhood days, her love for her daddy, and her missing him. Of how much he meant to her. And how she missed looking into his face.

She laughed at me when I could no longer see the green snake in the bushes, which sent me checking the ground. “Are you sure he’s not over here with us?”

“He’s gone. Besides, he’s not poisonous.” “I don’t care. I hate snakes.” “They don’t mess with me.” She sighed. “Hey, I met someone new yesterday. She’s a mom with two little girls, and she’s trying to find a job.”

“So, where are her girls?” “They’re staying with an aunt for now.” I then shared how, as a girl, my family traveled from Arizona to Texas for vacation and stayed with my mom’s sister. “My aunt’s 91 now. That’s hard to believe.”

“Is she still alive?” “She is, but my mom passed away in February this year.”

“I’m sorry. My mom left me with my dad when I was four. She never came back.” My friend took a swing of the pink stuff and gagged. “This is hard to swallow.”

I pried. “Where did your mom go?” “She just left, and my dad always said she got lost somewhere. I hoped she’d return, but she never came home.” “I’m so sorry.” I felt like my words offered no real comfort.

Then my friend asked me to tell her about my mom. “Well, she was a great poet. And storyteller. She hated the color yellow. And she made many people laugh.”

“I think you’re like her.” “Why? You never had the chance to meet my mom.”

“But you’re an author, and you tell stories. And you make me laugh.”

I held my hand to my heart. “I wouldn’t say I love the color yellow. It’s an okay color.”

My friend giggled. “ Yellow is like sunshine. I like yellow.” Then she sighed and downed another swig of the pink stuff. “I wonder if I’m like my mom ?”

“I bet you have some of her traits.” “I’m like her more than you know. I run away from life and responsibility. I haven’t stopped running in years.” Her hand with to her mouth. “My mom ran away! And now I’m doing that same thing!”

The rest of our visit included more revelations and moments of clarity, and my friend finally asked, “I wonder where my mom ended up?”

‘I don’t know. Life can have so many twists and turns.” I wiped the sweat on my brown. “So, is there anyone who might miss you?”

My friend gulped, crossed her arms, and then unfolded them. “My dad. He probably misses me. And last I heard, he’s still alive.”

“So maybe you could go see him?’ “I have no way of getting to him. He lives up north.” “Somehow, I think we can find him.” “I would love that. Do you think it could happen?” “I have a good feeling about it.” So friend, when you read this column, my homeless friend will have caught the bus and reunited with her dad as she now has a place to lay her head.

And we all know, Jesus guided her steps and mine for an encounter in a field, with pink medicine, a green snake, and an opportunity to stop running— to go home.

“ Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6)