I see God when the wind rustles a million blades of grass and I know that to Him, each one is unique. I see God when my heart aches as I say goodbye to dear friends. I see God when someone tells me they've prayed for the first time in a long time. I see God when I long for my little girl to have a dad. I see God in her tiny teardrops when she gets hurt and I can hold her close. I see God when someone tells me they're on day twenty one without cigarettes. I see God in His promises to me..
Show me your ways, O Lord,
teach me your paths;
Guide me in your truth and teach me,
for you are God my Savior,
and my hope is in you all day long.
Sunday, August 25, 2013
A's First Police Car Ride
January 18, 2013
I pushed A's stroller over the mounds of snow, feeling stupid for missing my bus. I had left my house that morning feeling especially triumphant. I was independently (and stylishly, I might add) taking my baby and I to Plato's Closet, and not only that, but taking TWO buses to get there. Riding the bus gives me a lot of anxiety, so this would be a significant achievement. I don't know if any of you have ever experienced the Spokane Transit System, but it is always an interesting and intimidating experience. There is usually a smell which dominates your riding experience and lingers even after the passenger has exited. The most common is the smell of the bus is someone who has failed to realize that cleanliness is next to godliness. Second is the wonderful smell of someone who bathes in alcohol or is storing marijuana in their clothing. When I was a pregnant bus rider, I would always look around at the first detected whiff in shock. Why is no one screaming and running off the bus? Oh, that's just me and my overactive nose.
Anyways, here was me, my four month old baby, my diaper bag, car seat, and stroller, walking in below freezing weather next to a busy road on a sidewalk that no one wanted to shovel. Well, I thought, I will lift my stroller over the largest snow clumps and push through. Out of nowhere, a police car pulled over next to me. The windows rolled down, in slow motion, as police car windows always do. "Ma'am," said the serious, respectable officer within, "Is there a baby in there?" A host of sarcastic responses crossed my mind.
"I think so, but I'm not sure. There was one yesterday." or "No, I haul my cans of Budweiser around in here." Instead I responded with a nervous "yes". Thanks, Mr. Policeman, for making me feel like a terrible, careless mother, letting my baby freeze. "Where do you live?" he asks. I replied, and he thinks. "I'll take you." This is obviously not an offer, it is a command. "Will my stroller fit?" I squeaked. The last time I was this close to a police officer was under very different circumstances. "Yes." He opened the back of his car, and I nervously push it down on some police gear. "There's no seatbelt!" I squeaked again. He looked at me. "It's okay." We get in. "Music?" "Yes." I told him my favorite radio station. "Christian?" "Yes." "What were you doing?" "Shopping!" "Where's dad?" "He's in Idaho." I then proceeded to tell him about Life Services, which he had never heard of. "It has changed my life and how I used to be." "What did you used to be?" Um..I did not anticipate this question. "Um, I used to party and not take life seriously. And now, I am going to go to SCHOOL." (this is always a safe things to tell older people in authority.) Home, sweet home! I exploded from the back of the police car and assemble carseat, stroller, diaper bag in record time. My druggie neighbors arrived home at the same time as we did, and were staring while shuffling quickly into their house.
I pushed A's stroller over the mounds of snow, feeling stupid for missing my bus. I had left my house that morning feeling especially triumphant. I was independently (and stylishly, I might add) taking my baby and I to Plato's Closet, and not only that, but taking TWO buses to get there. Riding the bus gives me a lot of anxiety, so this would be a significant achievement. I don't know if any of you have ever experienced the Spokane Transit System, but it is always an interesting and intimidating experience. There is usually a smell which dominates your riding experience and lingers even after the passenger has exited. The most common is the smell of the bus is someone who has failed to realize that cleanliness is next to godliness. Second is the wonderful smell of someone who bathes in alcohol or is storing marijuana in their clothing. When I was a pregnant bus rider, I would always look around at the first detected whiff in shock. Why is no one screaming and running off the bus? Oh, that's just me and my overactive nose.
Anyways, here was me, my four month old baby, my diaper bag, car seat, and stroller, walking in below freezing weather next to a busy road on a sidewalk that no one wanted to shovel. Well, I thought, I will lift my stroller over the largest snow clumps and push through. Out of nowhere, a police car pulled over next to me. The windows rolled down, in slow motion, as police car windows always do. "Ma'am," said the serious, respectable officer within, "Is there a baby in there?" A host of sarcastic responses crossed my mind.
"I think so, but I'm not sure. There was one yesterday." or "No, I haul my cans of Budweiser around in here." Instead I responded with a nervous "yes". Thanks, Mr. Policeman, for making me feel like a terrible, careless mother, letting my baby freeze. "Where do you live?" he asks. I replied, and he thinks. "I'll take you." This is obviously not an offer, it is a command. "Will my stroller fit?" I squeaked. The last time I was this close to a police officer was under very different circumstances. "Yes." He opened the back of his car, and I nervously push it down on some police gear. "There's no seatbelt!" I squeaked again. He looked at me. "It's okay." We get in. "Music?" "Yes." I told him my favorite radio station. "Christian?" "Yes." "What were you doing?" "Shopping!" "Where's dad?" "He's in Idaho." I then proceeded to tell him about Life Services, which he had never heard of. "It has changed my life and how I used to be." "What did you used to be?" Um..I did not anticipate this question. "Um, I used to party and not take life seriously. And now, I am going to go to SCHOOL." (this is always a safe things to tell older people in authority.) Home, sweet home! I exploded from the back of the police car and assemble carseat, stroller, diaper bag in record time. My druggie neighbors arrived home at the same time as we did, and were staring while shuffling quickly into their house.
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