Like the rain in a downpour
Coming home with a trunk full of groceries this rainy night, I drove by a man walking against traffic, carrying a four-gallon gas can. A moment later, I saw a battered silver pickup parked on the side of the highway. Someone was sitting in the drivers’ seat.
I was past them before I processed what I was seeing. The man with a gas can had a hat on, but no hood. In the cold November rain. It was too late when I remembered something my colleague Ian wrote last week, “Why I pick up hitchhikers.”
For a moment, I contemplated pulling over and driving the guy to get some gas. And then, I remembered: I am a woman traveling alone at night. There are chances I do not take. I thought about circling back around the city, telling him to go back to his car and that I would bring him gas myself. But it was ages before another exit appeared, and though I took it to avoid traffic, I doubted if I should get back to the man in time to save him a cold, wet walk.
I grew up in a family where girls could do anything boys could do, save pee standing up. When I learned that boys were better at chin-ups than girls because they had stronger upper body strength, I felt seriously ripped off (as if I really wanted to do chin-ups). Same thing when I learned about men’s ability to metabolize alcohol faster than women as I trained to be a waitress. I like to think I’m the equal of any man, but when it comes to the life of faith, there are kindnesses I do not extend because to do so would put me in danger as a woman. I am not proud of this.
As I drove further and further in the other direction, I prayed that God might tweak the heart of another, that the energy of my angst and indecision might go out into the universe and be picked up by someone who was in a position to help that man, those men, out. Preferably someone burly and confident this time.