I read Birgit's Blog -- and excerp from a book she read. (January 20--From "Nickel and Dimed - On (Not) Getting by in America" by Barbara Ehrenreich.) It reminded me of the experiences of an ex-waitress I love. You would love her, too. I'm sure of it. Today I would like to tell you some tales of the adventures of this incredible woman. A woman I admire.

She's no Mother Theresa -- she'd be the first to set you straight on that. (She'd probably use the F word in her response -- maybe more than once). No -- she's a real woman. Real woman, real world. She's on the move -- and don't get in her way -- she'll mow you down. She has bills to pay and life struggles to overcome. She lives in the No Whining Zone.

She has been known to gather over $100 or more in singles (after all, she's a waitress and has access to cash...) and travel into New York City in the winter to look for people begging in the subway or on the street. She looks for the infirm, women with small children and people willing to perform. When she finds these people she gives them money. She loves this tradition. Every once in a while she finds someone who looks able-bodied and down on their luck. She says, "Hey there. It looks to me like you want some money--I think I might give you some, but then what are you gonna do for me?" "Huh?" They usually ask, surprised that someone is actually addressing them directly. Most people work hard to avoid eye contact with the down-trodden. She tells them of the guy upstairs who played the flute, the guy on 48th street who sang Christmas carols. "What are YOU gonna do for ME?" They always come up with something. They dance. They recite poetry. They sing. She pays them. She laughs with them. And they are all happy for a moment.

Almost 20 years ago, this same woman sat at the bedside of countless dying men. AIDS, in the beginning. She’d meet them in theater productions and the gay bar where she worked part time. There was a time when they were dropping like flies – and people were sore afraid. "Stay away from them – you'll catch it!" they'd warn, "There is no cure." Some of these men were completely rejected by family, and all were rejected by the church. "They have no one else – they are my friends – I won’t let them die alone and unloved." And so she didn’t. She couldn't. After work and in between classes at school – every spare moment she could muster she visited, cried and loved the unlovable. They weren't unlovable to her. The Visible Christians-- now they were unlovable. So full of hate and self righteousness. They were unlovable -- but not her sick friends. (and if they weren't her friends, they would be before they breathed their last.) These guys were easy to love. She didn’t make a plan and determine a schedule. She didn’t ask permission of a church board or even do this in the name of Jesus – but do it she did. She laid her life down for her friends.

My favorite story about this woman happens on dark winter night in New York City. Driving home from a bar, she comes upon a taxicab that had skidded into a snow drift. She stops to help the driver, a man who hardly speaks English. "Foolish girl," I say later, "that is a terrible neighborhood – anything could have happened to you" "Silly Kim", she answers patiently, "it WAS an AWFUL neighborhood, and that is why I couldn't leave him there alone…"

Frederick Buechner says, "Generally speaking, if you want to know who you really are, as distinct from who you like to think you are, keep and eye on where your feet take you." (Wishful Thinking -- a seeker's ABC) He references Isaiah 52:7, "How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good tidings."

This woman is my sister. My baby sister. She's got great feet. And how beautiful upon the city street, or hospital ward or snow bank are they? Regular Angel Feet, they are. Now, those feet won't go to church -- she doesn't like the Christians much. (Maybe one day...) She balks if you say she is doing God's work -- "God is big enough to do his own work -- I do this because it makes ME feel good. Besides, I could never really represent God." (Ah, but you do. "No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit. Each tree is recognized by its own fruit.... Luke 6:43)

She recites a poem to me whenever I see her. She's been reciting it for about 30 years now. "My sister Kim is bigger than me, she lifts me up quite easily. I can't lift her -- I've tried and tried -- she must have something heavy inside." (What is that heavy thing? I feel it too...).

God Bless you, Sissy. I love you. I hope I can be like you when I grow up.


++Lord, lighten my heart, that I would be easier to lift.