in form how moving

This morning, at 0630 or so, there was a knock on the door. Mike got up and answered, and I could hear a woman talking, trying to be quiet but clearly upset. I'd just fallen back to sleep from being woken up by Zary, and I was groggy. (Mike must have not gone back to sleep, he was up so fast; he's asleep now.)

When I made my way down, a woman was on Mike's phone, and she saw me and handed the phone to me, "Can you give him directions? I'm not sure where I am."

"Hello?"

We talked for just a bit, and when he said that it'd take him about 20 minutes to walk over, I said, "Well, I've got a car. How 'bout I just drop her off?"

There was a pause. "That would be wonderful," he muttered.

While we drove the few minutes to her uncle's house, the woman told me that she was twenty-seven and had just got out of jail. The Ingham county jail is located in Mason, and is about 15 miles from my house. She (I never got her name) had got out yesterday in the early morning and been walking since then. She had no money and everything that she now owns is on her back and in a gallon plastic ziplock that she was clutching to her chest.

She'd had a place with a boyfriend but he'd moved to Texas while she was in jail, and everything she ever owned is gone. She has an adopted mother with whom she doesn't get along. She doesn't have any friends who can give her any help.

I asked her why she came to our house? She just shrugged. "I thought someone I knew lived there."

Yesterday I was at the YMCA pool with my buddy Chris. We alternated sitting in the hot tub and swimming in the lap pool until a group of little kids came in, a big birthday party, mostly girls around six years old or so. Then Chris wanted to go play in the sprinklers of the kiddie pool (he's developmentally and physically disabled) and so I sat on the edge, watching Chris and watching the kids. They were all so beautiful, the kids and their parents too, so much that it made my heart ache. Every once in a while, one of them would come close and watch Chris with wide eyes, look at the tube coming from his belly and at his strange face. I'd nod and smile at them, try to reassure them that it was all going to be okay and not worry about this guy. They'd look at me dubiously and go back to playing.

I'm an atheist, but I believe in people. I believe in a grace that we share.

As I was sitting down to write this, the oldest of the kids up the block came and asked if they could all come down for breakfast and now they're watching cartoons over their cereal, Trentyn and Zary, too, so six boys munching cereal and commenting on Bernard Bear (goes to youtube).

It feels very homey. I think that I'll spend the rest of my life with a household of boys.

I've got the number of the uncle that the woman called, and I'm trying to decide if I want to reach out to her, throw her a line. It's a lot of work, and I'm getting ready to go back to nursing school. But it makes me feel good to lessen the misery of folk, when I can.

As I wrote that, I thought that I should make the offer, if anyone is feeling like they have room to help some folk -- the kids up the block need boots and winter gear. There're two boys and a girl, (there were three boys, but the youngest is living with his paternal grandmother now, which is probably a good thing) from about ages 11,10, and 7. I don't know about the cousin who's staying with them, he looks to be about five. And the woman who knocked on our door this morning, well, she needs a phone. Maybe I can see about giving her one of our old flip phones and putting it on our bill; it'll only be $10/mo or so.

And, hell, I'll put this out there too: If you have a desktop system that you are done with, send it my way and I'll hook up the kids up the street.