One Christmas, my then brother-in-law (who was a cop) came home after working the night shift and had quite a story to tell my family. He said, “You guys gotta see this.” He then proceeded to pull up online a picture of a girl he had arrested that night. I have never seen a picture of someone quite like the picture he was displaying. She was obviously a meth user and she was riddled with all the typical signs of a user: Skin sores, hair loss, malnourishment. ย She was the shell of a woman and you could tell she had lost whatever soul she had once possessed. ย But, then my brother-in-law said, “You gotta see what she used to look like.” And he brought up a driver’s license picture from just a few years before. It was utterly shocking to see what she once had looked like–a vibrant, pretty, smiling, all-American girl. Putting the two pictures side-by-side, it was difficult to even see a resemblance between the two drastic photos.
My whole family just stood there around the pictures sorta speechless. We’ve all seen pictures of meth users and the degrees of deterioration, but to me, she became so real because Joey had just interacted with this person the night before. He then went on to explain that he had found her sitting in her car in an abandoned parking lot, using drugs, and she was pregnant. She was married with kids, but it was clear she had long since abandoned her family in her obsessive quest for drugs. When Joey spoke with her husband, after arresting her, he found out that the husband was a business man who had been trying to save his wife, but she kept running off to be with drug dealers. The child she carried wasn’t even his. Joey said he sounded devastated, embarrassed, and completely void of hope that he may ever have a true, lasting relationship with his wife again. It was so heartbreaking.
I sat there for a minute or two looking at her picture. I wondered what had brought her to this point. Then I felt just physically ill over her. I felt like throwing up just from the discomfort of seeing her life in so much pain and turmoil. I wanted to cry for her, for her husband, for her children, and her unborn child. I had to turn away from her picture and I went upstairs and laid down on my dad’s bed and tried to get rid of the physical pain I was in. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with me. And while laying there, this thought popped into my head, “Go down to the police station and just talk to the girl. Just show her love.” I sat there and thought about it and thought about it and in the end sadly, I didn’t go. You can call it “minding my own business,” but I call it cowardice. I thought of every excuse in the book not to go, but they were really pathetic, weak excuses.
There is a line in a song that we sing at church that goes, “Break my heart for what breaks yours.” When we sang it this past Sunday, that girl popped into my head. I still think of her from time-to-time. In that moment, I got what the physical pain I had experienced two years ago was all about–God was breaking my heart for what breaks His. He needed me to go to her-even if it did nothing at the time-to be with one of His lost. Can you imagine what impact I might have had if I, as a stranger, had gone to her in jail and reached out to her? Not to judge and not to condemn, but to show love? I honestly don’t know if it would have made any difference, but I do know that more love is never a bad thing.
This last Sunday I fully understood the message God was trying to send that day. I think I got a tiny glimpse of what God feels all the time from seeing His children in pain. The truly disappointing part is that I had an opportunity to bring love, goodness, and God to her; not to preach, but to just show the power of love that comes only from Him. I mean, that is our purpose here–to show Jesus through our actions and words to those around us. We fail, as Christians, all the time, but that does mean it has to be like that forever. Everyday we have the opportunity to start fresh. What a force we would be if all Christians reacted to having their hearts broken like God’s is broken at the injustices and suffering of this world. Mother Teresa was such a force. She felt her heart break for the poor and she did something about it. ย Ahhhh….to only be more like her.
I will never forget that day when Joey brought those pictures home. I hope that girl found help and healing. I pray that someone had more courage than me to reach out to her. I pray for myself and for all Christians out there that our hearts break for what breaks God’s so that maybe we can bring about more healing and love. I know I will heed that voice in my heart and pay more attention next time.
