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32 And be ye kind … Ephesians 4:32a KJV
Like all of my stories, this is a true account. In this case, for privacy, names have been changed.
Lunch Date
“No!” I gasped, as I reread the childishly printed letter.
Though written by a sixteen-year-old hand, it read like the letter of a six-year-old. Around uneven letters and through many misspellings, I made out the general idea.
Beth wanted a friend to eat with her at lunch.
She thought I was it.
I thought not, most decidedly not. I feared that what had begun two weeks ago as a nice gesture had gone too far.
My dad worked, in those long ago days, in the mid-’60s, as a housepainter, carpenter, and jack of all trades. He came home one night from painting a home across town and told of the friendly, teenage daughter in the family who always engaged him in conversation. Beth.
Though the high school I attended was fairly large, I knew immediately whom he was describing. Beth of the mentally challenged class. Beth the outcast.
The Letters
“When I told her I had a daughter near her age,’’ my dad said, “she asked if you’d write her a note.”
Well, I had, hadn’t I? Nice thing to have done for the poor kid. I’d written once and that was that.
Now, I was holding her offer of friendship on a crumpled piece of her notebook paper with her hopes of — what?–having a lunch date with me and my friends. No way!
Selfish Me
I thought I had my own problems in the sixties. The school had, at least to my mind, a caste system that made India pale by comparison. I wasn’t in the upper caste, a select few comprised mostly of cheerleaders and their boyfriends, but neither was I in the lower castes. I was in a clique somewhere in between that even had nodding acquaintance with the cheerleader caste, and I was not about to gamble it away.
Of course, I argued with myself, most of my friends were members of my youth group at church. Maybe, they’d be willing to befriend Beth with me.
But then, I would envision Beth in the cafeteria.
Alone.
All alone at a table that seated twelve.
Beth with the slurred speech and boyish haircut. Beth wearing shoes that my granddad would have called “sensible,” to help with her slow, shuffling, uneven gait.
The Cowardly Way Out
No, I thought, once and for all. It was too big a gamble. What if I fell from grace in my clique?
No.
The final decision was made.
Beth would continue to eat alone.
Time Passes
I still saw her as I passed her table. Never having met me, she never knew who I was among those who passed her every day. No one, not even my closest friends, knew that once, Beth and I had exchanged letters.
A year passed. Once, in that time, my steps had almost slowed as we passed Beth’s table. Guilt pricked. I quickened my pace. After all, I had to tell Mary that Eric had walked me to class again. It was so exciting, so important.
Beth continued to sit alone.
Then, one by one, they came.
The Years
Graduation. A job. Marriage. The birth of my six children. A move halfway across the country.
Thirty years of ups and downs. Grandchildren. Middle age. White hair. A long walk through it all with a precious God.
The Adult Home
Then came the day when our little rural church’s choir went to the Adult Home for the Mentally Challenged.
We sang Christmas carols around the adult home’s Christmas tree.
One woman, Ruth, well into her fifties, sat alone. She was clutching a blanketed doll and cackling, “See my baby,” over and over.
“She never lets go of that doll,” another resident muttered.
I struggled for an opener, taking her lead, “Christmas is all about a baby.” I attempted to give my little message about the birth of our Lord and His Love for us all.
“It’s MY baby,” she interrupted.
I tried again.
“God shared HIS baby with us all.”
She glared at me.
I tried again.
No One is Left Out
“His Love is for us all to keep, to share. It’s for every one of us. No one is left out.”
I read the Christmas story from Luke.
She seemed unsure but inched closer.
As I bowed my head for the closing prayer…
….She GAVE me her doll!
Loved slammed into my heart.
….and cut off my breath.
….I couldn’t see through my tears.
My friend Shirley from church, thrust a tray of cookies into my hands. She pushed me in the right direction.
The director of the home was speaking, “These folks have sung for us and talked to us, and now they’re going to finish by having LUNCH WITH US, as they’ve brought us Christmas cookies.”
I moved about our new friends.
We ate and talked.
My sons strummed their guitars and strolled among everyone.
A few more carols were requested. It was time to leave.
Ruth and I stood together.
Her doll still being shared and in my arms.
Finally, we all stood in a circle, joining hands.
An unbroken circle.
No one was alone.
No one was left out.
Like God’s love, it included everyone.
And then it hit me.
Forgive Me, Lord!
Forgive me, Beth, my heart screamed.
“Lord,” I prayed, “I know You’ve forgiven me a long time ago, but I ask You now that somehow, wherever she is, You let Beth know that I finally want HER included in our circle too.
Please let her know that she has always been loved by You, even when I wouldn’t share that love with her.
Let her know I was the one who was slow.”
And then, my heart smiled. I felt Beth WAS in our circle.
In spirit, we were at last together.
We had finally had our lunch date.