Sandy was tired. Dead tired. She'd worked all day cleaning other people's houses and now she was waiting for the late bus to take her home to her children and a mountain of other people's laundry. Sandy had no husband, just two boys, aged 8 & 10 who'd been home alone in the one room apartment since 3:20. Sandy looked at her watch. 8:32. It would be well after nine o'clock by the time she got home. It was the same every night. Sandy worked as much as she could to earn the money she needed to pay the bills and to pay off an $8,000 debt. She worked 60 hours a week as a maid and took in laundry, mending, and ironing to do in the evenings. Riding the bus from job to job took many precious hours from her working time every week. Sandy needed a car. And she needed $8000. And her boys needed so much too: clothes, shoes, a tutor for Peter, and braces for Mark. If she had a car she could get a job in a law office just outside the city. She'd done some legal work before and it had paid well-- much better than the $300 a week she was earning now. And she would only have to work until 5. But it was too far to walk and there was no bus route. So as she sat on that bus bench, Sandy didn't let herself think about being young and in school, dreaming of a sucessful career. She didn't let herself think about the law office. She didn't even think about her boys. She tried to stay numb and tried not to think, and at 30, she was getting pretty good at that.
"Ugh!" It was hard to believe that such a harsh sound had come out of such a pretty mouth. A young girl with long straight hair and equally long straight body threw up a well-manicured hand in disgust. She and an overweight, balding man stood in the parking lot of a car dealership.
"DaDDY." This term of endearment was anything but loving as it fell from those glossy lips. "This is NOT funny. No one would drive a car like this! It doesn't even look like it works."
The car was a several years old with low mileage and the old man had recognized value for the dollar. He shrugged sheepishly at the salesman as his daughter pulled him over to the new cars. The salesman of course made no objection, remarking, "She certainly knows what she wants."
"Well, you know kids," said the father, "they've got to have the newest thing."
The young lady was already ensconced in a brand-new convertible, preening. "Does it come in yellow?"she purred at the salesmen.
Sandy peeked out her apartment window, yelling at the boys to be quiet. She didn't recognize the two cars that were pulling in, and after several abusive relationships, she was cautious. A man she didn't know got out of the car, walked up to the door and rang the bell. His shirt said "Caring Hearts Center" on the pocket. Sandy opened the door and could barely take in what the man was saying. She had been selected... a donation.. a used car... an envelope was pushed in her hand. She opened it to see "Certificate of Title". Sandy felt her knees shake and saw the ceiling above her before she collapsed to the floor in a faint.
Why did I write this story? To remind myself that the best gift is a gift that we need. A gift that we need desperately. That is why Christ's righteousness given to me on the cross in exchange for my sin is the best gift of all time. Because it is what I need most of all.
1 comment:
Did you enter the WestBow fiction contest this year? The one World put on? If they do it again next year you should enter this.
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