Luke 10

Today at noon, I was driving to the OKC campus from the Edmond campus. I had two kids with me and we were at about 2nd and Coltrane. I noticed a nicely-dressed woman walking down the street alone carrying nothing but a purse. She had just passed a convenience store so I didn't think her car had broken down, but she was still over half a mile from the next possible place to be headed. No sidewalk. Sandals. Just didn't seem right. So I turned around and came back to her and offered her a ride.

She got in hesitantly and started crying. She seemed confused, frightened, and just plain overwhelmed. But there was a hitch. She didn't speak English. She was able to tell me her name. She was able to say thank you. She was able to tell me she was Persian from Iran. She was able to say Broadway well enough for me to turn there and motel well enough for me to turn there (the scary old one by the blue hippo, yikes). I wrote down my name and phone number for her, but she seemed ready to just leave me and go. Of course I had absolutely no idea what was going on. She wiped away her tears and told me thank you again and left.

But it just didn't feel right leaving her. She needed help. So I went on to church and asked a couple of staff friends if they knew of any Christians who spoke Farsi. (None of them did because, I'm sorry to confess this on behalf of most white people: we can't tell Iranians apart from pretty much any other middle-eastern group. From northern Africa to as far east as India. Sorry. It's not you, it's us.) I even posted on Twitter and Facebook to find someone to come help her but the truth is, I already knew who was supposed to help me.

My next door neighbor Maria. My Iranian Baha'i neighbors who I actually knew because her oldest son was once a student of mine. I have lived next door to them for two years, but I have always resisted reaching out to her. Too chicken. But I knew they spoke Farsi. Even so, I went on home after church and ate lunch. Then I checked Facebook and guess what the first response was to my question. From my friend Toni: "my next door neighbor." Seriously, how many people in Edmond have neighbors that speak Farsi?

I knew my answer though. I told Brannon I was going next door. As soon as I got there and told them the story, the wife had me get in her car right then and we went to go find the woman and see if we could help her. I got to visit with her for the first time in a far too long time. When we arrived at the motel, I didn't think the guy in the office would tell us which room she was in even if he could confirm if she was there. But he did. We walked down the creepy sidewalk and knocked on the door. She cracked the door open with the chain pulled. The two women began talking immediately, and she finally opened the door and invited us in. They talked for a long time with lots of crying and hugs and hand-holding. I just sat there and prayed. She finally got her to agree to come back with us and spend the afternoon at my neighbors.

Although they talked probably 20+ minutes altogether, Maria gave me a summary. She had left her husband. Sounds like he is abusive and probably bipolar and they are having a really rough time. Her in-laws were a family that my neighbor knew. They were supportive, but she just felt lonely and afraid. All of her family was back in Iran and it wasn't culturally appropriate for her to get help from any of them. She had two small children who were at home, but she thought they were safe. She had been suicidal in the past. She just needed help. I offered as much help as I could to my neighbor, but since I couldn't talk to her, I really wasn't going to be any help. They took it from there. I'll go check on the situation again tomorrow.

So, all that being said, it's time we all just got a little messy. Not just write-a-check-to-charity compassionate, but get-all-entangled-in-a-hurting-woman's-life compassionate. Although God called my bluff and forced me to go talk to my neighbor, I really got off easy. Picking up a stranger? That could have gone a lot of different ways. But God isn't near as interested in our safety or our convenience or our schedule or our busy-ness as He is in us getting all good and messy in the lives of the people around us. Not just strangers on the street but our next door neighbors too.

Read this chapter as if you'd never read it before, and let's all start living this way for real. We truly bear the very best news of all time. We must share it. And pray for Hendeh. She needs it.