“Help those who deserve it when its within your power."
~ Proverbs 3:27
Phuong plopped her plaster cast
onto a foot stool, clicking the remote to scan through the channels. Hurrying to finish her final chores at work
resulted in a slip, a snap, a shattered ankle.
She felt the tension begin like a cluster of spark plugs in
her gut. Her body screamed at her to
sprint down the street, to expend tension that kept piling up regardless of her
inability to use it. In wasn’t the pain
of injury, but the fear of the unknown that stoked a primal urge to flee.
Phuong was 38, with citrine-toned skin and world-weary eyes.
She’d supported two small children over
the years by working multiple part-time jobs rather than relying on welfare. Currently she had a cleaning job at Embassy
Suites by the airport and waited tables at the Mainstreet Tavern.
They’d been able to (barely) make ends meet with the help of
her mother’s social security check. But
when she died earlier this spring, they’d started falling behind. Their rent was five hundred and fifty dollars
a month without utilities - the going rate for a two-bedroom apartment in one
of the worst neighborhoods in America’s fourth-poorest city. Shelter costs took 88% of Phuong’s $625
monthly take home pay. Without income,
she knew what came next.
Her first eviction had taken place 14 years earlier. She figured that she’d rented more than 20
houses since then. An “Eviction Notice” had
been taped to her front door but she’d been too depressed to tear it off.
First, the landlord would summon the sheriff, who would
arrive with a gun, a team of movers, and a judge’s order saying that her home
was no longer hers. They would be given
two options: “truck” or “curb.” “Truck” meant that her things would be checked
into bonded storage for an exorbitant monthly fee.
Phuong didn’t have the money, so she’d opted for “curb,”
which meant that the movers would pile everything onto the sidewalk:
mattresses; a 24” television; a lumpy couch, her mother’s dining room table and
lace tablecloth. They’d be spending
Christmas at a homeless shelter.
Her landlord’s knock at the door could be the weight that finally
crushed her spirit into oblivion. Arleen, a short black woman with bobbed hair
and freshly done nails, took the note she’d left off the door. It read: ”Thanks
for always paying your rent, I know it hasn’t been easy. I’m waiving your rent until you can get back
on your feet. Merry Christmas!”
Arleen handed Phuong several bags of groceries, some she’d
paid for with her own money and the rest she picked up at a pantry. She knew Phuong needed it.
Phuong thanked Arleen and promised repayment. Things were off to a good start.
Lord, thank you for the generosity of
strangers. From facing my fears and healing
my wounds, I’ve become more resilient and faithful. Through Your grace, let me be an inspiration
to others of peace and compassion. Amen ~
Phuong
