“Evelyn, what are you doing out here?”
She looked up at him and in doing so the parson saw her recent history etched in her face. Her features were gaunt and drawn. Her clothes were dirty and hung off her frame that was considerably thinner than the last time he’d seen her. Her hair had been cut into a butch style that required no apparent grooming. The parson was shocked. She looked like a refugee from a war zone.
He knew her status before she said it. “Parson, I’m sorry. I screwed up.”
“It sure looks like you did. How’d you get here?”
“I walked.”
“You walked from where?”
She stared at him for a minute and then responded in an almost whisper, “I’m not sure. I was on this road last night. I don’t know how I got here. But I knew the church was down here somewhere, so I walked until I found it. I think I slept on the porch here. I’m really thirsty, parson.”
“Come on,” said the parson. “We’ll get you something.”
The parson started toward the outside door of his study. He unlocked the door and invited her in. She followed and collapsed on the sofa.
“Jesus H. Christ,” she said, “I’m so damned tired.” She smiled, displaying her yellowing teeth. “Sorry, parson. Guess I’d better be a little discreet if I’m going to sit here a spell.”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” the parson said. He went into the church kitchen and started a pot of coffee perking. Some pop tarts were found, left over from a teen sleep over a few weeks previous. He popped them in the toaster and filled a large glass with ice water. The water he carried back to the study. Evelyn was slumped over on the sofa, her snoring announcing the depth of her sleep. The parson sat the coffee on the coffee table, picked up his briefcase, and made his way to a table in the fellowship hall where he started working on his sermon.
Her voice startled him from his concentration. He looked at his watch and realized he’d been working just over two hours. “Hey, parson! You got a phone call!”
He walked back to the study and found her talking on the phone. “Yes, madam, I’m sure we can assist you. Oh, here’s the parson, now. Hold on.” She covered the mouthpiece with her hand. “This lady wants to know if you can refer her daughter to a good counseling center.”
The parson smiled at the effectiveness of his temp secretary. “I’ll talk to her. There are some pop tarts on the cabinet in the kitchen and there’s a pot of coffee waiting.”
“Thanks, parson,” she said, as she rose and departed the room.
The parson sat in his chair and introduced himself to the woman on the phone. Evelyn’s voice echoed in the hallway: “What a friend we have in Jesus ….”
When the parson finished his referral, he found Evelyn in the fellowship hall. She was reading his sermon preparation notes. “This is pretty good,” she said. “I might come Sunday.”
“Well, to see you in church would make my day,” the parson smiled.
He pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the table from her. “Okay, let’s stop dancing around Evelyn. Tell me what happened.”
She started crying. Her heart poured out. She’d been clean for almost a year. She’d gotten most of her debts paid. She was seeing her kids again. But she went to a party with some friends from the office and there were some drugs there. She thought she’d be able to handle it this time. But she had not. She had started using again. She’d lost her job. She’d been kicked out of her apartment. Now she was on the street.
He knew the answer but he asked anyway. “How are you paying for your drugs?”
“You know,” she said.
“Why’d you come to the church? Did you want to get clean again?”
“I do, but I don’t.”
They talked for a while about her options. They were few. The parson realized she might not be ready for rehab, but the effort had to be made.
“Why don’t we get you cleaned up a bit and then you can go talk to the folks at the program. You don’t have to sign in. But you ought to talk to them.”
She nodded her head. “Right now?”
“Did you have some place you have to be?”
She laughed and stood. “Okay. Where to?”
“First, let’s get you some clean clothes,” said the parson. He led her to the clothes closet the church had for the indigent. She selected a nice pair of slacks and a pullover top along with a windbreaker. Then they made their way to the parson’s car.
The parson pointed the vehicle toward the expressway. In less than ten minutes he was pulling into the parking lot of one of the town’s several chain motels. After parking he told Evelyn to bring the clothes and follow him. Inside he asked for the manager.
“Alex,” he greeted, “I need a big favor.”
“What can I do for you, parson?”
“Do you have a room that’s been vacated but hasn’t yet been cleaned?”
“I’m sure I do,” said Alex. “You need one.”
“I’d like to let my friend get a shower.”
“That’s not a problem, if you trust her,” said Alex.
In a few minutes Evelyn was in one of the guest rooms taking her shower. The parson settled down in the lobby to watch the cable news. After he’d sat through three commercial breaks, he began to wonder. He walked over to the desk.
“Excuse me, would you mind going down to the room my friend’s using and see if she’s alright?”
The parson waited patiently. The desk clerk returned with a note in her hand. The parson saw his name on the outside of the folded paper. He opened it and read: Sorry, parson. I don’t think I’m ready now. But thanks of the pop tarts and coffee, the clothes and the shower. Pray for me. Maybe I can do what I have to do soon. I love you, parson. Evelyn.
The parson folded the letter and placed it in his jacket pocket. Walking to the car he reminded himself ministry is in the doing not the result.
Credits: Graphics by subscription with Clip Art Dot Come
Ministry is in the doing, not the results? Really, Parson?Ineed to believe this, but I am not sure I do. I wantto be effective, notonly faithful...prayers appreciated. Might email you soon.
Posted by: SingingOwl | October 31, 2007 at 05:54 AM
I will pray for Evelyntoo.
Posted by: doodlebugmom | October 31, 2007 at 11:35 AM