​Wasn't it just yesterday that we brought him home from the hospital, two babies ourselves? We had no idea what we were doing. Do any of us ever, really, have a clue?

​We are tossed into the parenting thing, not knowing what's ahead. Because if any of us truly knew, would we still take the leap? ​I’m not so sure.

To a degree, I romanticized being a parent, just like everything else in my life, up to that point. Living in a make-believe world helped me survive.

Going into my first pregnancy, ​I remember saying, to anyone who would listen, that I would do the entire thing sans drugs, I would be a champion breast-feeder and would overall knock it out of the park. My labor and post-partum experience would be one for the books, something to aspire to.

​We make our plans and we hear God laughing.

​Not only was I given what seemed like a pharmacy full of drugs, but Joseph was born by C-section after 24 hours of labor due to failure to progress. Breast-feeding was a disaster. And I felt like a sleep-deprived emotional and physical failure.

Of course, I wasn't. But my feelings told me something entirely different.

​Days sped by, then months, and my precious Joseph became the joy of my life. ​By the time he was three months old, he slept through the night. We could take him anywhere and he was mostly well-behaved. He was not perfect, as no human is, but he was darn close. God knew I needed that.

​Since his dad worked nights, he was my snuggle buddy in the evening as we watched foxes and jackrabbits from our deck, then watched baseball on tv and read books before bed. Joseph was happy and responsible and just about as sweet as he could be. He was my little companion, and I loved being his mama. 

​When his brother, James, was born, Joseph would not wake us in the morning, but would go downstairs, get his own breakfast and watch Barney until James woke up.

​I could always trust him not to get into any mischief. Truly, he was a dream child. Again, God knew what I needed.

​When I look back on those early days of motherhood, I have regrets, of course. I wanted to sleep desperately and should have spent less time waiting for him to sleep through the night and more time being in the present.

Wishing the time away wasn't a good thing. It never is.

​Sitting up in the middle of the night, over and over again, with a baby boy that simply wanted to eat and play, wasn't ​much fun, either. There were times I lost my patience while being worn out, hormonal, and still healing from surgery.

If I went back now, knowing what I know, would it be different? I've had a few sleepless nights with my granddaughters, too, and it's even more of a struggle the older I get. So maybe not, but I like to think it would be.

​If you had told me at 28 that I would be a parent for life, not just until the magical age of 18 years, I may have laughed. I am not sure what I thought, but I surely didn't consider the permanence of being a parent.

​I had an idea that you raise them, send them to college, then all would be honky dory, live happily ever after land. Off to their own families and own lives, with rainbows and butterflies and the like.

​I didn't think of the financial or emotional burden of it times three, once James and Alessandra arrived.

​But you know what? I really, honest to goodness, wouldn't trade it! Was there a time when I would have? ​Yes. ​And I would tell everyone I knew to not have children.

Careless words, they were, so, I confessed them as such, my sinful attitude, and moved on.

​​Today, even with the ups and downs that parenting has brought -- and will bring -- I can honestly say I'd do it all over again.

​Happy Birthday, Joseph.

We made it.

​Not that I had that much talent, because I didn't, not nearly as much as my beloved granddaughter. But if I had the intention of being better, maybe I would have been better. I read recently that intention trumps execution and I believe this to be true.

​But I digress. Charlotte has grace, beauty and confidence that I didn't exemplify as a dancer, not even as I got older. I was anxious ​and awkward, and full of the comparison trap. Always looking at someone else's moves to validate my own. Even after I hung up my ballet shoes, I continued in this dead-end trap.

​As I watched her do a tap dance, leading her peers, then a ballet dance, I got tears in my eyes again. This time, thinking how blessed and undeserved I am. I never imagined I would be sitting in a packed, high school auditorium watching a dance recital with my granddaughter doing the dancing.

​At that moment, my life flashed before my eyes—all the struggles and ​mistakes, bad choices and heartbreaks. ​Yet they all led to this. And this, I thought, is a beautiful masterpiece, a perfect culmination of all things lining up to become Charlotte.

​One different move, one second to the right or the left, a different choice, would have resulted in some creature other than this magnificent one that I adore more than anyone, except God.

​Yet, right here, this very moment, she exists and we have the proud joy to delight in her. What's truly incredible is that every single adult in that room felt the same way about their daughter or granddaughter. And ​every single person would be right: their child or grandchild is the image bearer of the Most High God, a living, breathing, walking miracle.

​Some might say I am making more of a dance recital than should be made. And some are certainly welcome to some opinion.

​But life exists in the small moments, that while they are happening seem just that. I think that the little moments all add up to make very big ones. To find joy and peace in that is a gift. Especially in this crazy world in which we live.

We all need more light. And my precious Charlotte emanates it.

​After the recital, children gathered with family and friends, showered mostly with flowers. I brought candy (which Charlotte really loves) because I know her! Having her run up to me exuberantly, throwing her arms around my neck, and yelling "Nonna!" is truly everything.

​What's remarkable is, I never cared about having grandchildren. It wasn't a strong pull for me. I saw them as being one more thing to keep me up at night, worrier that I tend to be.

​But from the moment I heard the news from Joseph and Lauren that they were expecting a baby, I ​was all in. Charlotte and her little sister, Amelia, are the best gifts I have ever received. They are the light in the darkness.

​So, when I get to relish in the reality that my very own flesh and blood is on the stage, tapping her feet and doing pirouettes, it makes me grateful. I do not deserve it or anything else, for that matter. It's all grace, lavished upon my family and me. Grace in a four-year old's dancing body up on a stage made just for her.

​I'm full of gratitude and love, knowing that I could have been in a much different kind of scenario, living a much different kind of life. Thank God, literally, I'm not.

 A little over a week ago my husband Ric and I had the pleasure and honor of watching our granddaughter, sweet Charlotte Rose, for a week.  Her parents were married during Covid and never got a real honeymoon so when they saw the chance to escape to Curacao, they took it!  I'm thrilled that they did.

Charlotte has a nearly one-year old sister, little Miss Millie, and she stayed with her other grandmother who is retired and much younger, with probably way more energy to boot!

It was a long week, but when it was over I found myself sad and melancholy and missing that little stinker more than I dreamed possible.  When she left, I cried and cried, but I also wrote things down, in my journal and in the journal I will someday give to her.

While I was musing on all that I lost that week, including my entire routine, except for work, and access to my tv remote and some sleep, I started to think about all I had gained in the process.

First, I have gained a closer relationship with my first-born grandchild who is my firstborn's first child.  That is a lot of firsts.  And there were MANY firsts during the week-long Charlotte fest as well.  When Charlotte was born, I lamented over the fact that I was still traveling for work nearly full-time and would not be known by her.  As grandmothers are want to do, I thought of her other grandmother and just knew they would build lasting memories while I faded away into oblivion.  Thankfully, that is not the case, as each grandmother has her own time and unique things to contribute and to pour into Charlotte's life.  And she is old enough to realize and remember things so my fears, like many, died a long death, first in reality, then in my mind.

In addition, I have gained precious memories and, hopefully, she has too, memories she will remember long after I have left this crazy place and made my way to Jesus.  More than anything, I want to leave a legacy to her and her sister, their children and their children.  The third and fourth generations, as the Bible says over and over.  I think I got a great start on that during this week.

I gained a new appreciation for Joseph and Lauren, her parents, who deal with Charlotte and her sister day in and day out, along with full-time jobs and other commitments.  I kept saying to Ric that I had no idea how I ever raised three!  I was a lot younger and stayed at home full-time, but still!  I do not envy parents who had kids in their 40s, 50s and even 60s.  In fact, I think they are just a tad bit crazy, to put it mildly.

Let's see, what else?  I have learned more patience, perspective and perseverance.  More grace, more mercy, both for others and for me.  I have learned that Ric and I make a pretty good tag-team when it comes to caring for Charlotte.

Quite frankly, I have gained so much that it seems foolish to focus on what I lost or could not do, just for a mere week.  In the end, the week was about the legacy I would like to leave, teaching Charlotte about my unique view of life and, most of all, about my faith in Jesus.

I hope she remembers that I prayed for her and with her, read her books, taught her my Erin-isms like "Poopy, Doopy, Loopy, Scoopy," took her to the Grinch Ice production at the Gaylord, let her win at UNO (in the beginning) and let her have food for breakfast that maybe she should not have eaten (Rice Krispie treats, anyone)?

More than anything, I want her to remember that I love her, albeit imperfectly.  And as much as I love her, there is One who loves her infinitely more than I could ever dream of.  It is to Him that I give thanks and praise for the wonderful creation named Charlotte who taught me so much in just a week.

Now where is my Kleenex?

I'll never forget her name.

I'll never forget her face.

Four of them walked in, all shiny and clean, dressed for prom.  But I really only saw her.  Two boys, two girls, ready for a night that could be everything or nothing.

I briefly thought back to my prom.  Nothing.  I hoped more for them.

She wore a stunning, pink gown, something I would wear, I thought to myself.  Her long, blonde hair cascaded down her shoulders to her lower back.  Professionally done, I thought.  Just for this night.

Her body was amazing...and she was showing off more of it than a woman should, at least for a 17 or 18 year old.

Judgment.  Harsh and cruel, from my head to my heart to my lips.

My husband's back was to her, so he could only imagine my description of her beauty and how her well-endowed breasts poured out of her dress.

I told him he was not allowed to look, my own insecurities pouring out as well.

Other husbands? Their wives were not so lucky.  I saw a married man leer at her while having dinner with his wife.  One look, then another.  I wanted to give him a talking to.  But he would have to wait. 

For she commanded all my attention.

Quickly, my eyes found their way back to her.  The other couple held hands and looked gooey-eyed at each other.  Eva's boyfriend -- or whatever he was -- seemed somewhat disinterested and quite homely.  Way too homely for a girl like her.

Judgment.  Again.

Harsh and swift.

Maybe that's why she feels like she has to dress so seductively at such a young age, I thought.  Disinterest.  I could relate all too well, as years of not being enough flashed through my memories.

Soon, three more girls joined the table.  The no-so-lucky ones, those without a date.  Again, my mind flash backed to my prom.  I wish I hadn't had a date.

The other girls looked happy, almost giddy, as they joined the two couples.  I was happy for them.  Every girl seemed giddy really.

Except Eva.

Bread was delivered and the teens ate like teens do:  hastily.  But not Eva.  She tore off a small bite, barely enough to get a taste.  This was an Italian restaurant; bread is everything.  I'm Italian.  I had eaten four pieces by the time she had eaten her tiny morsel.

Entrees came next.  My husband and I enjoyed full plates while I gave him the blow-by-blow of the actions of those at the table next to us.

Soon their entrees were delivered as well.  I waited expectantly to see what they ordered, not just because of my fascination with Eva, but also because I love to see what other people order when I dine out.  I want to make sure I chose the right thing, mostly, but I really like food.  Cross that out, love food.

One of the girls got what I got:  gnocchi.  Good choice, I said.  Several others ordered steak.  One girl ordered something I couldn't identify.

Eva's food was delivered last.  I held my breath as I waited.  A salad was placed in front of her.  I hoped it was the first course.

It was not.

As the other six hungry teenagers dug into their entrees as they had with the bread just a bit earlier, Eva carefully cut her romaine leaves, taking her time.  Forcing down each bite.

When all was said and done, she ate about half of it.  My heart broke.

Judgment was replaced by empathy.

I looked at her, looked at my husband, looked at her, looked at my husband.  He knows the look.  He has seen it before.  He has told me more than once to not get involved, to mind my own business.  The last time he told me that he reazlied it was a mistake so he's a bit more cautious with those words now.

He didn't say a word when I gave him that look and said, "Remember Megan?"  He nodded.  Enough said.

After all our entree plates were cleared, theirs and ours, it was time for dessert.  We received it complimentary and, several minutes later, they did too.  Oh, the joy!  Not just dessert, but free?  I loved hearing their squeals of delight, echoing my own from just a few moments before.

I'd like to say that Eva plunged her fork into one of two large pieces of decadent chocolate cake placed in front of the seven, but that did not happen.  She took a very small forkful, then placed her fork down on the table as an act of finality. 

I knew I was supposed to talk to her so I plotted my escape.  I silently prayed for an opportunity.  Then, boom, just like that, she got up to go to the bathroom.  I jumped up like I was shot out of a canon.  I looked at my husband and saw a slightly concerned look, but no matter.  I was off to the races.

Eva and I arrived at the bathroom at almost the exact same time.  She started to close the door when she saw me.  She told me I could go first because she would have to take off the dress and it would be "a whole thing."  I asked if it was a single stall and she said yes.

That's when I confessed to her that I didn't really need to go to the bathroom at all.  All I wanted was to talk to her.  

Knowing I was risking a lot and that it may not be taken well, I spoke fast, choosing my words carefully.  I told her that I wanted her to know how beautiful she is.  I wasn't prepared for what happened next.  She threw her arms around my neck and hugged me tight.  She thanked me, and when she let go, tears rolled down her face.

Should I say more?  Delicately, I told her that I was sitting close to her in the restaurant and I noticed that she wasn't eating much.  I don't remember every word I said, but she knew exactly what I was saying.  She thanked me, over and over again, hugging me again.

Just then, a restaurant worker with a foreign accent walked by, asking why she was so dressed up.  We both said "prom" at the same time.  She said that this was not something they had in her country, then told Eva how beautiful she looked.  She then asked if we were related.  We looked at each other and said no, but Eva looked at me and said, "I can see it."

What a compliment.

I don't know how the conversation ended and I don't remember every word that was said.  I do know that I asked for her name and she told me:  "Eva."  Then she told me she liked my shirt.

Something I am quite sure of:  this was a divine appointment, just as much for me as it was for her.

In those few moments by the bathroom, I saw Eva.  I looked into her face, into her eyes, and no longer saw the girl I judged when she walked into the restaurant.  None of that even registered now.  

Once again, I was taught a lesson.

I hope and pray that she learned something, too, from a complete and total stranger:  that she is enough, something that will stay with her for the rest of her life.

As she will stay with me. 

I used to never think about it.  I am, after all, quite the serious person.  I've accepted this, for the most part.  Someone has to be, after all.  It might as well be me because I have perfected it.

Another thing I am relatively good at is training/teaching.  I have been doing it, in one way or another, for decades.  I've done it on a volunteer basis, leading women's Bible study groups and teaching the kids in Sunday school.  I even had the blessing of homeschooling my kids for many years.

I've been an English as a second language tutor.  I've been a reading tutor and a substitute teacher for Denver Public Schools. 

I've been a hospitality trainer, working for Frontier Airlines and Oracle.  For the past eight amazing years, I have been training Epic which is used in the majority of healthcare systems across the United States and beyond.

When I try to train in my own strength, I may get the job done, but not the way I desire.  When it works the best, I allow God to move through me and the results are far greater, far better, far different.  I leave it all on the proverbial field, so to speak.  And it is glorious.

Sometimes a trainer is only as great as her audience, however.  There are days I show up and I have a really tough crowd.  They are angry, don't want to be there and I can tell from their faces certain things just won't play well.  I get my energy, for better or for worse, from them.  And I can usually get a feel for how it's going to go in the first few minutes.  Not that it can't be redeemed or turned around, but my students play a large role in how it will all play out.  Period.

I love to sing in my classes.  I have been doing this for years, going way back to my reading tutor days.  I can still see the faces of my first graders as I sang "You ain't nothing but a hound dog..." when going over flash cards for the letter H.  They loved it and I ate up their anticipatory smiles and laughter, each and every day.  Some of them even sang along. That's when I discovered that even a serious girl can have fun and can make the audience laugh.  I thrived on that realization.

On a personal level, the laughs have been a bit harder to come by.

As I like to tell most of my students, my family doesn't think I'm funny.  Even at this, they laugh.  And I love it.  A few weeks back one of my students replied, "None of our families think we're funny."  I think she was just trying to make me feel good.  It worked, kind of.  

Yesterday was a fantastic training day.  I woke at 5 on a Saturday morning, not wanting to get out of bed.  I prayed, like I usually do, for God's energy and strength to move through me.  I had 21 students.  As they filed in, they yawned, looking like they had better places to be.  Like bed.  I get it; I try to be empathetic to the best of my ability.  Most days I do fairly well, I think.

I usually start my classes out with a feel-good speech, telling my end-users they are allowed to feel whatever they want to feel in my class.  I think this is a shock to most of them.  I have been doing this for years.  Why?  Because I detest being told how to feel.  If someone is feeling something, what good does it do to tell them NOT to feel that way?  It is the most insensitive, counter-productive thing I have ever experienced.  Most of my end-users are anxious, angry, and/or overwhelmed, and the older ones are contemplating retirement over learning a new software system.  I get that.  I learned Epic while I was in my 50s.  Learning something new later in years can be more challenging and some of my students do not feel up to the task.

After I have read my crowd (as trainers we are quite good at this), I settle in and start singing songs that go along with the lesson.  Sometimes it's Taylor Swift's "22," with an occasional "Going to the Chapel."  Trust me, these songs are perfect for some of the lessons I train.

But yesterday?  Yesterday was so special that I threw in, "Single Ladies" by Beyonce.  The crowd roared.  Especially the student who said he was obsessed with her and stated, a few minutes into class, that he "loved me."  I honed in on his energy because it was uplifting and positive and consistent for the entire class.  He obviously recognized great talent when he saw it.

I've been praying for a very long time that God would give me a full-time or remote job in Colorado so I can serve at my church, continue to develop my family and friendship relationships.  And simply have a consistent life that I have not enjoyed in over 12 years.  I know it will happen eventually, but oftentimes I wonder why it is taking so long.  All of the things I desire at home are good things.  Why the wait?

Maybe it's because, to a degree, I feel freer on the road than I do at home.  There is not the same baggage of familiarity.  I have to rely on myself.  I have more confidence.  There is none of the junk that comes with people knowing you so well that they know all of your crap.  I feel like I can be me, without people knowing exactly what that entails.   

Don't get me wrong.  As a trainer, you have to be "on" all the time.  In my younger years, this got me into trouble because I have always been more honest than the average person.  And I wear my heart and emotions on my sleeve.  It's exhausting having to give your all:  everything physically, emotionally and mentally, for people who would rather be anywhere but in a classroom with you.  They have their baggage, too, and they often bring it in, open it up and leave it lying bare on the floor for you to navigate around.  It can be exhausting and, on the bad days, so not worth it.

Getting back to yesterday...every song I sang received laughter.  Some even sang along with me.  Every joke was understood.  Everyone had fun.  And in the process, people learned. Lest you think I am training a bunch of 50-something white women, think again.  I am mostly training people much younger than me and the majority are not white.  

I heard a few say that other trainers had been so serious and seemed like they couldn't wait to go as soon as they started class. In the end, I was thanked and told that my humor was appreciated.  This class had been the best they had so far, I was told.  I hear this a lot.

I'll take it.  I'm no different than anyone else.  We all want to be appreciated and loved.  We all want our jokes to be laughed at.  Not because people feel sorry for us or think we are a charity case.  Not because they simply think we are goofy or extra or weird.  We want real relationships with people, connection, authenticity.

I've learned a lot about myself over the past 12 plus years of being a travel trainer.  I am resilient.  I am a good trainer.  I have more strength and confidence than I realize.

And I am funny.  Legitimately.

A few years back I was told that instead of waiting for a loved one to die to write their eulogy, we should do it while they are still alive.  This is a great idea, I thought to myself.  Then I thought of all the people I could do this for.  Then I did nothing.

On May 28 my youngest child, Alee, turned 26.  We celebrated with a trip to Arlington back in March that was indeed momentous in and of itself.

Last Sunday we had the opportunity to celebrate again as Alee's friends threw her quite the bash in Woodland Park at a cozy Airbnb cottage. There were plenty of people, lots of food and an abundance of alcohol.  Lots of little kids, too, which explains the need for the alcohol.

When Alee told me several weeks ago that her friends were throwing her a birthday bash, I was grateful.  Not just because she is my daughter and I want her to celebrate every milestone, but also because she goes all out for each and every one of her friends' birthdays.  As a mother, I want to see her get back at least a little of what she gives. 

Indeed she did.

One of Alee's greatest qualities, if not the greatest, is her giving heart. She gives without hesitation and without expecting anything in return.  Not only does she give in tangible ways, she gives of her time.  She is an honorary auntie to at least seven young kids and a biological aunt to one.  She loves her friends and their kids like there is no tomorrow.  It would be a shame if she doesn't become a mom because she is a natural.  And simply that good.

Another great quaity is her work ethic.  Since she was 16 years old, she has worked at Papa Murphy's.  Working her way up, she is now an Area Supervisor, overseeing seven stores.  She works like she gives:  passionately and without reservation.  Sometimes too much.  But who am I to tell her not to work so hard?  Every parent dreams of hard-working offspring.  I got the lion's share with my daughter.

She is honest and open, traits I'd like to think she got from me, though she says we are nothing alike.  I think she protests too much on this topic.  While I see that she is much more like her father, she did get a few things from me.  She is a good writer, articulate and fairly self-aware.  From a young age, she has been able to tell me what she thinks and how she feels with an honesty that is sometimes difficult to take, but albeit refreshing.  I always know where I stand with her.

I'm in awe of her fearlessness, especially since I have lived most of my life being timid and afraid.  When she was very young, she taught herself how to pitch by watching The Sandlot.  From that time on, she was fearless on the mound, so much so that her nickname was Mariano Rivera (look him up if you have been living under a rock for the past three decades or so).  Alee played into high school, but injuries sidelined her from playing at a higher level.  She was a dream to watch and I have the fondest memories of watching her play. 

In addition to playing softball, she took ballet for several years, even doing a solo performance during one recital.  I took ballet for 12 years and do not recall ever doing a solo, either because I wasn't good enough or was simply petrified.  I remember watching her with tears in my eyes, transformed back to my childhood ballet days.  My mom was there, too, and she said watching Alee was like watching me years before.  What a priceless gift.

She won a writing contest when she was quite young, maybe 7 or 8.  Again, I have been a lifelong writer, but do not remember winning a contest.  Ever.  Watching her bask in the glory of such an accomplishment at a young age left me proud beyond words.

I could go on and on about her endless talents, her great qualities, her tenaciousness, her strongest of wills. Since I won't be around to write her real obituary, I am taking the very great advice of the person who told me to do it now.  I want her to know exactly how I feel.  And who among us will ever regret saying how we feel while we still have the chance?

Alee, you are the real deal.  I stand in awe of your many gifts.  I'm blessed to be your mom and to watch you grow, learn, love and fall down.  Then get back up.  The best is still to come, my daughter!  I wish I could be around to see it all.  But there's nothing more you could do or be that would make me prouder.

I love you forever.

Mom

Guess what?  He’s BAAACK.  And in rare form.  I couldn't be happier.

I had the pleasure of talking with Pete yesterday and today.  When I saw him yesterday, he gave me a look as if to say, “Oh, no.  The crazy lady is back.”

On my way into Starbucks, I spoke with him briefly.  “Where have you been?”

“Oh, I’ve been in other places around town.  You scared me, with all your talk about you and your husband and writing a book about me.”  He also mentioned the fact that I know everything about him.  I found that interesting because I truly know so little.  It is all about perspective, after all.

I love it when I'm right.  He was afraid of me.  That part, I didn't love.  I felt horrible and apologized, telling him there was no need to fear me.  “I’m just a regular, normal person,” I said, willing him to believe it.  Clearly, he thought me anything but.  Others may agree.

I asked him, of course, if he wanted anything and, of course, he said no.  “You and your husband take care of your family. You don’t need to worry about me,” he stated emphatically.  I argued, saying we are supposed to take care of one another, that’s what we are called to do. I could tell that made him think.

On previous days I brought him a banana and peanut butter but had nothing for him yesterday because it had been a week and I had just figured he was gone forever.

Until he wasn’t.

I prayed I would see him again, I did.  Every single day.  A weird prayer, I know, asking God to let me see my favorite homeless person.  But I pray about everything, as I am told to.  Still, I just wasn't sure...

Before I went inside, I apologized one more time.  He told me it was okay.  I felt lousy, I really did.  The last thing I ever want to do is intimidate anyone.  That's just not my thing. In my head, I said, "Tone things down a bit, Erin.  Good grief."  I can just see my kids now, rolling their eyes, giving me a hard time about just being me.

When I walked back outside, we continued our conversation.  He mentioned again, how much I scare him and that he had been hanging out elsewhere.  He went on to talk about giving up on life a long time ago.  I'm not sure where that came from, but I wanted to know more about it. As always, I was short on time.  Plus, I was too far away from him and could hear less than half of what he said.  I determined to change that bad habit if I had a tomorrow with him.

Pete mentioned God and Jesus a lot (which I love), then in the very next breath he talked about how he didn’t believe John 3:16 or Romans 8 (he was probably referring to Romans 8:28).  I thought that was weird, praising God in one breath, then doubting his Word.  Then I thought about how I sometimes have the same tendency. I wanted to find out more about that, too.  If I had a notebook, I would have written down reminders of what to ask about next time.  For every question I had yesterday, every answer produced more questions.

Toward the end of our conversation yesterday, as I started to walk away, he asked if I was a principle or a teacher or something like that.  He said I reminded him of both.  I laughed and told him that I am a software trainer.  He laughed and said, “See!  The Holy Spirit told me you were.”

I wasn’t sure to take it as a compliment but decided I would because I need all the encouragement I can get.  Another thing to follow up on, I noted.

We touched on other topics, like baseball (he’s a fan) and how crazy the World is.  I told him I hoped I would see him tomorrow.  He promised I would. 

He kept his promise. Today he showed up again and I was prepared. I was armed with a banana and plenty of questions.   As always, I asked if he wanted anything else and he said no.  As he has probably learned by now, telling me no is like saying no to a toddler who is hell-bent on having his or her way.  It goes in one ear and out the other.  I bought him a chilled bottle of water anyway because he said the only water he had was room temperature.  He deserved better.

After getting my drink and food, I sat down beside him, immediately feeling the hardness of the concrete bench he sat on, day in and day out.  We chatted about my life and my kids.  As I sat next to him, it felt right, comfortable, which is so strange to me.  Usually I am the one who is fearful of homeless people, but not Pete.  I feel at home talking with him.

After the small talk, I cut to the chase, asking what he meant yesterday when he said he didn’t believe John 3:16 or Romans 8.  In a roundabout way (sometimes he talks in circles, not making much sense, but sometimes he is more articulate than many people I know), what he was trying to say was, those verses didn’t apply to his life.  He said he believed the words, but just not for himself.  That I understood.  I have felt that way, too, from time to time.  But I don’t feel like that now, thank goodness, so I told him I will pray that he will see they apply to him at some point.

We talked about purpose and I told him a bit about my own story.  I told him that I, too, have been through hard times, but God had brought me through them all.  He said I must have made the right choices.  Then he said, “You’ve really been blessed.”  I agreed.  But I told him my life could have taken a different path, several times.  He looked me straight in the eye and I knew that he knew what I meant.  I said it again, for emphasis.  Then I talked about one of my favorite topics: capacity.  I asked if he understood what I meant and he struggled to come up with a similar word.  I said it’s like ability.  He nodded his head, a gesture of understanding.

I talked about my two brothers and me.  I told him Scott’s story, how he was an addict and ended up dying nearly ten years ago.  Then I told him about Eric’s great success.  He listened intently, sprinkling in wows here and there.  And then I mentioned myself, how I had done well, in an average kind of way.  I explained that we had the same parents, same upbringing, but that Scott could not overcome his depression and addiction because he just didn't have the capacity to do so.  And I'm sure Scott didn't think John 3:16 or Romans 8 applied to his life, either.

I did a lot of talking: he did a lot of listening.  He, at some point, reiterated the fact that I remind him of a principal and teacher, the way I carry myself.  I told him I hoped it was a compliment and he said, “Yes, ma’am.”  He said he admired strong women and listened to them in order to learn more about life.  This Pete could teach other men some things!

We talked about purpose, how God has one for everyone, including him. He doubted that, I could tell.  I asked if he had a place to sleep at night and he mentioned a shelter in Orange County that he has been talking to, slowly hoping to make the move.  I sensed that he is the one holding back, not the shelter, for whatever reason.  Probably fear, the same thing that holds most of us back.  He said he had a case worker and was working on it.  That made me happy. 

“I wish I had started the process a year ago,” he said. 

I promptly replied, “Don’t look back. You’re not going in that direction.  Look ahead.”

He smiled another doubting smile, then I added, “I’m preaching to myself here, believe me.  I struggle with this all the time. I have regrets.  We all do. But today, right now, is all that matters. Just forget about what you should’ve done. Move forward.”

He smiled and said, “Now you remind me of a therapist.  You could be a therapist, how you’re talking to me.” Wow.  Pete knows how to dole out compliments, for sure. Under normal circumstances, this guy and me would be friends.  I mean, the hanging out kind.

I wonder what Pete was like, before all of his major problems started.  I imagine that he had an awesome childhood, that he was loved and loved.  Then something happened to knock him down.  Only he never got back up.  I think he was popular with the girls, maybe a baseball player in high school.  Even though he said he was born in 1977, he looks haggard and way older than his age.  I guess the street will do that to you.  Still, he is not a bad looking man. I bet he turned some heads back in the day.

He went on to say that sometimes he has a bad attitude and thinks that may have something to do with him not being able to pick up more gigs than he does.  (I took this to mean some part-time jobs). Now I’m the one who scoffs.  Pete?  A bad attitude?  God help me if he has one.  I wonder what he would think about the all-about-Erin attitude I sometimes have?  

Toward the end of our conversation, I told him that all these positive things are easy for me to say.  I have a job, a home, a car, I told him.  I’m not homeless, I said, addressing the obvious elephant in the room.  “You’ve been blessed,” he said, smiling like I have it all.  Compared to him, of course, I do.  Compared to a lot of people I guess I do.  But I am trying to do less and less comparisons these days.  Why?  As the Bible says, there will always be those with much more than me and those with much less.  And I am on the path that only I can walk because it was designed specifically for me.  I just need to stay in my lane.

All in all, I think we made great progress in our friendship the past two days.  I only get ten minutes or so with him each day which is not nearly enough.  I set my alarm clock five minutes earlier today than yesterday. Perhaps next week I will set it ten or fifteen minutes earlier.  I will maybe be a bit sleep deprived, but it will all be worth it. 

After all, at least I get to sleep in a bed, every single night, with a roof over my head and a full stomach.  How I long for the same thing, someday, for Pete.  My friend.