It was on Friday that I met Janeen, and her broken heart had left burn marks on my heart. I couldn't shake the memory. I couldn't shake her tears and how real they felt. Not concocted. Pure brokenness and starvation for something she had been deprived of for a long time . . . love.
I wanted to go back.
Really badly.
I wanted her to know that when I said she was valuable and when I said we cared, I meant it. I didn't want to be another person who handed her Jesus' name and then ran away, not really caring what would happen to her the next day. And I was worried about the clot in her leg.
I worked on homework that Saturday. It was hard to concentrate. I could hear her words, over and over again.
The clock ticked slowly and finally Sunday came. I wanted to do something.
But my heart was oh so inverted.
Janeen was in distress, and she needed saving, and if no one else was doing it, why not me?
And I lost sight of Jesus.
Well, I sure wasn't wanting to, but my desperation to help save her was very much rooted out of a belief that was wrong. That I could save her. I could not and cannot. I can love though, with Jesus' love, and I hope and pray that Jesus used my rashness and my silly, broken heart to still love . . . even though the mission I took that Sunday was probably pretty foolish.
It took me a long time to figure out whether or not I should go downtown that Sunday. I really wanted to though. Really badly. I looked online for some info about blood clots and the nearest homeless shelters. I tried to be smart (some would debate this . . . haha) and didn't take a purse, just carried very few belongings with me that could fit in my pocket, including my little canister of pepper spray. (: I grabbed the change I needed and decided to just do it alone. Bethany was doing things with her church, and like I said before, I was pretty antsy. I sped walked to the Max station around 6:30pm, heart beating. Praying for little signs on the way but not really paying attention to them.
As I pressed the buttons of the ticket machine, trying to get what I needed, a man came by and handed me his ticket, "Here, it still has about 2 hours on it." And with that, he sped off. I wasn't sure what I should do, but I grabbed it and hoped I wouldn't get fined. I moved pretty fast to the max stop, where I saw an older woman. That made me feel so much better. Honestly, I was scared.
I don't know that I have ever been so scared.
And not that the fear was something rational (though it might have been rational that I was afraid. haha). For instance, I wasn't afraid of a specific thing happening. I just felt fear.
But finally a train came, and I walked on. I grabbed onto a pole, smiling at a cute little boy riding with his daddy. The max train made several stops. On one of them, a girl came on who looked about my age. She carried a big duffel bag. She was dressed in lots of color like an ordinary college student, and I caught her eyes a few times and smiled. She smiled back, as if we could have been friends. My mind was filled with so many questions. Is she running away? Should I talk to her? How should I talk to her? What should I say? What if she's in trouble?
And as I continued riding, I tried to figure out what I could do or say. And finally, the Max hit another stop, and she walked off. I knew a few more stops down might take me closer to where I was hoping to find Janeen, but because I recognized the name of the street and because my friend was making her exit, I stepped off the max train, waiting for any opportunity . . .
To be Continued
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