Mothers and Daughters

Girl Warrior. Don’t walk away or turn your head when you see someone you find displeasing, disdainful or off-putting. Or worse. Repugnant. Repulsive. Revolting. The homeless beggar, the panhandler, the vagrant or vagabond. And especially, the shabby-dirty-raggedy-ass-down-and-out-nasty derelict, bum or bag lady.

Don’t inflict an egregious unkindness by pretending you didn’t see or that they weren’t there. Don’t turn this Human Being into one of the Invisible Souls. By turning away you are actually saying, ‘you don’t matter. I am better than you.’

Instead, lean into compassion, empathy, and understanding. And know this: but for the grace of God goes all of us, including you Girl Warrior. You are not above the fray and beyond reproach.

Instead, love the unlovable Girl Warrior. Love those who the world has discarded. Love those who have been cast aside, tossed out, left abandoned. Or worst of all, the ones we have given up on: the hopeless cases and the unfixable.

Instead, open your loving divine heart and express your beautiful humanity. Allow your natural tenderness to well up and occupy your spirit until it is filled to the brim and overflowing. Then take all of this abundant goodness and give this very personal gift to the one standing on the street corner, hat in hand. Or the one slumped against a storefront holding a cardboard sign with a scribbled message that reads simply, but oh so elegantly, ‘please help.’

Say yes, yes, yes Girl Warrior. Say yes, I will help.

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This post is dedicated to my beautiful and tenderhearted daughter Aimee who has taught me the true meaning of compassion and kindness; and to not turn my head or walk away from those in need. Her natural instinct is to always extend a helping hand. She’s an extraordinary and rare Girl Warrior.

Ma stood in the driveway waiting for her sister Hazel to come and pick her up to go shopping at Intercity. I sat in the orange plaid swivel rocker and watched her from the living room window.

The sky was clear and blue and the snow was crisp and clean. The snow banks were so high on either side of the driveway entrance that they dwarfed Ma’s already small frame. She was wearing her gray fake fur coat. I don’t know what animal it was imitating. Her purse was draped across her chest. She wasn’t wearing a hat.

While she was waiting, she traced the snow in an arc with the toe of her boot. Like a windshield wiper. Back and forth. Every now and then she would pause and look down the street for my Auntie Hazel’s car.

Her cheeks were blushed red from the cold air and her dark eyes were so bright and alive. I had to remind myself that she was well into her seventies.

I will always remember her that way. The image of her at the end of the driveway, with the winter sun shining its pure radiant light on that particular spot, in that particular solitary moment, and on that particular woman, just for me to see. To bear witness.

And in that sacred, intimate and private moment, my heart was overflowing with tenderness. And love.

My Thing About God

Diaries of The Breadman's Daughter.

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Don’t Walk Away or Turn Your Head.

Diaries of The Breadman’s Daughter: Snapshot of Ma in the Driveway at 204.