Helping Grammy — By the Rev. Ted Schroeder

Sometimes shelter isn't found inside four walls--it's found inside someone's heart.

By The Rev. Ted Schroeder

"Daddy," my 5-year-old daughter said as she ran into my office. "We've got to go outside and help Grammy." My daughter often played around the church and parsonage, and would find her way to my office.

"Honey, your grandmother lives hundreds of miles from here," I explained. "We can't go outside to see her."

"But, Daddy. She's out there. And she's sick."

At my daughter's urgent plea, I followed her outside. "There, Daddy," she said, pointing down along the front steps of the church. At first I saw a heap of rags. But then I realized it was a tiny old woman bundled in a tattered coat and huddled behind two shopping bags alongside the steps of the church.

"Hello there," I called. "Are you all right?" There was no answer. We moved closer. The woman appeared to be sleeping. "She's sick, Daddy," my daughter whispered. "She told me she's sick."

I moved near and knelt. The smell was overpowering. I fought the urge to get away and to get my daughter away. The woman drew back from me like a frightened animal.

"Do you need help?" I asked.

"What does it look like, son?" she said in a shaky voice.

"But you can't stay there," I protested. "We have an evening service tonight. The people coming won't understand..."

"No room, Reverend?" she said. "No room for old baggage like me?"

My daughter pulled at my sleeve. "We need to help her, Daddy. She has no place to go."

"Do you have family in town?" I asked. "Someone we could contact?"

She seemed dazed, as if she were dreaming. "My granddaughter lives somewhere here, I think. I don't remember her name. She had yellow hair and a sweet smile. I would hold her and read to her."

I touched her hand. It felt very hot. "I think you have a fever," I said. I looked around to see if anyone else might come along who could help.

"Isn't it about time for you to call the police to get me away from your church?" the old woman asked. "Away from the people who 'won't understand?'"

"But I can't leave you here."

"Please, just leave me alone. Leave me--"

"But you need shelter, need a place--"

"There is no place for me," she said and turned away.

My daughter pulled again at my sleeve. "Daddy, we need to help her. You know, like the man in the Bible."

"What man, honey?"

"The man with the donkey. The Good Samaritan!" The image of the man kneeling beside the road helping the beaten traveler hit me.

We loaded the old woman in the car. My daughter sat in the back on the way to the urgent care clinic. I found myself at the front desk saying, "Give her whatever she needs. I'll be back tomorrow to pay."

The desk nurse interrupted: "But why, Reverend? Isn't she just an old bag lady?"

"No, she's not."

"Who is she, then?"

"She's the one we found along the road. The one my daughter would not let me pass by."

The Rev. Ted Schroeder, a regular contributor to Thrivent magazine, is a Thrivent Financial member. He and his wife live in Minneapolis.

But a Samaritan came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him...Then he put the man on his own donkey, took him to an inn and took care of him (Luke 10:33-34).