Life (or something like that)

I get up this morning at about 6:40, which is a bit later than I usually start my day. I have my coffee and get ready to go to work. I leave for work at about 7:50 and today the 10 minute drive takes me 20 minutes for some reason. I get to work and realize I am the first one in the kitchen this morning. That is unusual—usually there are at least a couple other people working by the time I arrive. So I turn on the lights and ovens and start cutting up chicken and vegetables. Other than the humming of the oven's hood fan thing, it's super quiet in the kitchen. I both really like the quiet and feel a little spooked to be alone in there all by myself. But I put myself in the zone and focus on what I am cooking. I realize while cutting the chicken that I am not really thinking about anything, and I wonder if I should be thinking about life or something. Then I decide that I like having the ability to not think about anything and just work. So I just work. Hours go by and I get things cooked, portioned, labeled, and put in the walk in cooler. Cleaning up the kitchen takes a solid hour to an hour and a half. I label and put away the leftover food, wash loads of dishes, and take the trash out to the dumpster. I think about the week when I was trying to lift a heavy bag of trash into the dumpster and the bag broke at the bottom and trash fell all over me. It was gross. Anyways, I go back inside to sweep and mop the floor. It's a lot of work. But I feel proud of it.

After leaving the kitchen I drive across the street to drop food off at a client's house. I often drop food off there before heading home. The client is a sweet elderly gentleman who is quite spunky and spry. He definitely has a young soul. I want to be like him when I am older. He always kisses me on the cheek and talks talks to me for a while. Today it is raining when I go to drop his food off, so he tells me to pull up to the garage. I should have known where this was going…he has been wanting to show me his red corvette for weeks...and today is apparently the day! Haha. So he takes the cover off of his bright red, brand-spanking-new, corvette. I can tell he is really excited to show it off. It's adorable. He has me sit inside the car on the passenger side and as soon as he opens the door I am immediately bombarded with new car/new leather smell. He then climbs in the drivers seat and pushes the start engine button and proceeds to rev the engine a few times. Then for the next 10 minutes he shows me all the neat little features the car has. I find it fairly impressive, and that is coming from someone who isn't really into cars. At all. Although, I did learn a lot about cars and wheelies and "burnout" when I nannied for Nicky, because he was all into that kind of stuff. Anyway, the gentleman asks me what kind of cars I like, and I say, "the reliable kind. The kind that you know will start in the morning." He laughs and asks me about my sweet ride—which I proudly say is a  2001 Honda CRV that hasn't had working AC since March of this year. He is amazed that I would drive a car without air-conditioning, and I tell him I built a lot of character over the summer.

After a bit, we climb out of the car and he pops the hood of the car to show me the engine. At least I think that is what we were looking at. I'm not really sure…all I know is that everything under that hood is so clean you could eat off of it. He tells me some facts about the car and I nod and smile. He then asks how much of the information I am going to remember, and I say, probably about 25% but that it is still interesting. We finally say goodbye, and he tells me that he enjoys my weekly visits.

I drive home and I feel light. Light as in, happiness mixed with contentment. Sure, my hands are covered with burns and dry as heck because I wash them in scalding water 500 times a day. And my nails have never been such a tattered mess...i'm actually kind of concerned about how much of a beating they're taking. I was also worried last week that I was on the verge of straining my wrist because of how much scrubbing of pot and pans, lifting of massive industrial sized mixing bowls, pots filled with sugar syrup, and cleaning I do now. I have always had weak wrists, and it had been aching for a few days. My body is not used to this much physical work every day. Apparently nannying is more sedentary than I realized. When I get home, I realize that I have enough energy to go running. This is literally the first day since I started either of my jobs in the past three months, that I have had the energy to exercise after getting off of work. So I run. It's a good run, too. Then I shower, because I am covered in grease and food particles, and now a layer of sweat—it's real cute.

Then I leave for Target. Obviously. Because…Target. But as I am driving down the road in my neighborhood, I see a man hunched over in the grass next to the sidewalk. He has his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands over his ears. He is rocking back and forth slightly and there are what appear to be empty cans of beer scattered around him.

My heart stops for a minute. Then it hurts a lot—my heart, that is. I feel frustrated for being a woman, because I can't stop my car and do anything. That would be really unsafe. But I hate just driving past him. It feels so cold. I wonder if he has a more severe mental illness. I wonder if drinking helps him. I wonder what kind of emotional, mental, and physical pain he lives in every day. I pray for him. I really pray for him. Because if that was me on the side of the road, I would hope someone would really pray for me—and for more than five seconds.

I think about the brokenness of life. And I ask God to be with that man. To hold him, to love him, to comfort him. Seeing things like that bothers me on many levels. It bothers me because it is a human in suffering. It bothers me because that is a human being in pain. It bother me because I understand on some level, some amount of addiction and mental illness and how you can't always control it and how it can mess with you. It bothers me because I am afraid of that being me. It grieves me, because I know I used to ignore people like that. I used to think of them as half humans because I didn't know how to even begin to process seeing something like a man rocking back and forth on the side of the road with their hands over their ears surrounded by beer cans. It was similar to how I would dehumanize the homeless people standing in the street medians. I didn't view them as real humans,  as even worth eye contact, because if I acknowledged that they were fully human and had souls precious to God, then I had to acknowledge that there was a level of brokenness in the world that I didn't know how to handle. I wasn't taught how to handle that kind of thing. So the only way I could not be bothered by those situations, and specifically by situations involving those who are mentally ill, was to pretend like I didn't see it…like they weren't really there, or that they weren't really humans…because, I couldn't handle knowing a human being was in a situation like that. So I would ignore it. Because I couldn't handle it.

I'm not saying I can handle it now. But now…I am trying to acknowledge that it is there. The broken, the suffering, the mentally ill. And now I know…I know that those people are human being with souls. Souls that deserve to be acknowledged and given dignity and respect.

So as my heart was heavy for the man I saw, as it hurt and broke for him, I had to remind myself that Jesus is not sitting up in heaven, distant and unaffected by that man's pain. He cares more for him than I possibly ever could. He is nearer to him than I possibly could ever be. And I can trust the broken, hurting, and suffering souls to God. If only I could actually do that. But it is hard to do when I don't see these people being comforted.

Well, I went to Target, got the things I needed (and obviously all the things I didn't need) and came home, ate dinner, and in-between writing this all I am watching the new Muppets TV show, because today ended on a heavy note and I now need to come back up.

I know, this post is very…unlike me. It's not what or how I typically write on here. It isn't polished or funny or witty. It won't attract anyone. Heck, it doesn't even attract me really. But it was my day and I wanted to write about it for some reason. And as someone once said, "Better to write for self and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." Or something like that.

So, I tonight I write for self. You're welcome, America.