A study in chaos. She catches me by surprise in Macdonald’s as I wait for my ice cream on this hot July day. Wild unruly brown curls. Faded orange shirt, stained and rumpled. Arms and legs frantically jerking, moving in patternless disarray. Eyes roaming out of control, looking for some point of reference in her universe, finding none.
I look away, repulsed. A tiny wizened caregiver, half her size, tries valiantly to keep her under control. Auntie? Grandma? The only person left to care for her? Mumbled words. “No, you can’t have another toy. You have too many already.” Moan of despair.
Oh, no. The Holy Spirit, that “comforter”, is invading my personal space. Here He comes again, chipping away at my sugar candy coating of religiosity. “So you love people?” He queries. Ouch. Jesus died for her? Well, He died for me.
Okay. Test failed. Lord, I need Your eyes, Your ears, Your heart. .
