Gusts of wind blew sideways onto our patio as rain soaked the small outdoor carpet. The chairs were damp from the onslaught of pelting rain throughout the night. I placed the small dish of food under the one dry chair, hoping Luna would find refuge from the cold rain. I saw her a short distance from the house. Her green eyes round like the moon, tail flitting, she paused as rain soaked her soft fur. This morning, she needed protection. Hesitant and vulnerable, she approached and sat under the chair, protected from the storm.

Vulnerability is difficult. If people in life have wounded us, ignored us, or abandoned us, it’s safer to not risk, not ask for help, and convince ourselves that we can handle everything on our own. Yet, that prolongs the pain and loneliness.

Sometimes, we need protection in the storms of life.

I’ve known a young woman for over twenty years. She has struggled with homelessness or fragile housing for most of that time. Fiercely independent, but with a heart of compassion, she has given herself away to others. She left California to help her grandmother in Oklahoma when tornadoes shredded her hometown. She lost her reservation on a long waiting list for affordable housing to (as she said) “Do the right thing.” She took in her ailing brother when no one else would care for him, and held him in her arms when he died.

For the past two years, my friend served as a care-giver for her mother who was diagnosed with dementia. When the manager of her mother’s apartment tried to take the apartment away, while her mother was in the hospital, she needed someone to advocate for her so they would not have to return to the streets if their meager health insurance did not cover the convalescent care. Overwhelmed by her mother’s declining health, and stressing about where she will live when her mother passes, she needed sanctuary from life’s storms.

Stifling her tears, my young friend told me her mother had stopped eating. “Grandma died when she stopped eating. It won’t be long for my mother.” Then, trying to convince herself more than me, she whispered. “I’ll be okay…I can do this.” I knew she couldn’t. My mother died a year ago; I needed people to offer protection from my storm.

“Dan and I prayed about it, and we want you to stay with us. You won’t be alone.” Wounded, abandoned, and treated poorly in life, she hesitated. It’s taken twenty years for her to trust me and believe she is safe. I reminded her that although she may have struggled for housing in this life, God has a mansion waiting for her in heaven, and if I’m lucky, she will rent me a room.

Laughter broke through her tears as she humbly thanked me.

I’m not convinced she will accept our offer. She said she doesn’t want to inconvenience us. But Jesus taught that helping others isn’t always convenient. Yes, Dan and I will give up our comfort zone. We have our routines and my introversion and highly sensitive nature longs for privacy. But as my young friend said when she gave up her housing to help her grandmother, “Sometimes you just need to do the right thing.”

photo by Danielle Dolson on Unsplash