She has a name
A very strange thing happened last Wednesday. At 10:30 pm, my husband, Andrew and I came upstairs from our family room, having just watched another episode of “Call the Midwife”. The night was hot and humid- the kind of night where hair gets frizzy, clothes lay plastered against skin and faces gleam with perspiration. As usual, Andrew began the end of day ritual of locking doors and closing blinds when I heard him say, “Sue- there’s a taxi sitting in our driveway.”
“Hmm..that’s strange”, I replied and peered out of the front window. “Maybe he just got turned around and is looking at his GPS?”
But a few moments later, we could hear someone at our door- knocking ever so tentatively.
I opened it to find a young woman in her early 20’s dressed in a baby doll outfit, heavy on the eyeliner and smelling of cheap perfume.
“Is this 52 Glengarry?”, she asked.
“Yes”, I replied. “Are you looking for someone?”
“I’m here to see 2 guys.”
“Oh..” (I couldn’t think of anything else to say.) Then I asked what the guys’ names were as we know most of our neighbours.
“I don’t know”, she said, but showed me the text message directing her to our home.
She looked embarrassed and saying, “Sorry to bother you”, walked down the driveway and got back into the waiting cab. I was stunned- like a deer caught in the headlights but as the taxi began to pull away, I felt compelled by Love and ran down the driveway waving my arms. The cab stopped and she stepped out. I asked,
“Would you like to chat? Something to drink?”
Surprisingly, she said yes and as Andrew turned on the backyard lights and brought her some ice water, I led her into the gazebo.
I had no script to follow for this conversation and fumbled around thinking of something to say.
“What’s your name?”
“Meagan” she responded. (Not her real name.)
“Where’re you living?”
“Grand East”.
Last week, Chatham’s homeless encampment was forcibly moved to Grand East. People on assistance living there cannot afford the cost of rental space and still be able to eat. Many of the residents living nearby spoke out at the town hall meeting and were clearly disturbed. NIMBY- ism prevailed. “Not In My Backyard”. Not THOSE people. And I understand. I get it. I wouldn’t want to be scared to walk in my own neighbourhood at night, either. I wouldn’t want garbage and needles on my sidewalk and my home to be devalued.
But “those people” have names and stories.
“What’s happened to you to bring you to this line of work?”
“I’m on drugs and these guys said they’d give me $650 each”.
“What are you taking?”
“Fentanyl and crack.”
My heart sank. In Chatham, 95% of drug overdoses were from fentanyl. I felt compelled by a force bigger than myself and looking her in the eye, I told her that if she didn’t get help, she’d probably be dead soon. For a moment, she looked startled.
“I’m not going back to rehab”, was her response.
“You’re right. No one can make you do anything. But do you know you are SO loved? I don’t judge you and neither does God. Please believe me when I say that you were created for more than this. When you’re scared, you can just call out his name. He’s with you and He can help you. It isn’t a coincidence that you’re here.”
“This is weird”.
It most certainly was. Then she started to fidget and said that her cab was waiting so she had to go.
Some may think this random event was a coincidence. Perhaps it was.
But maybe, just maybe, this child of God needed to hear that she was worth more than $650 times 2 or 3 or 4 or 5.
And she has a name.