A "Why God?" Moment

I wrote the following in March 2008. I'm not sure why I waited until now to post this story. Truthfully, I had forgotten I ever wrote it. I did not, and will likely never, forget what prompted me to write it in the first place.


I've said to friends and family alike that I owe many aspects of my happiness to my involvement in high school with the Westminster Choir at First Presbyterian Church. Indeed, any possibility of a life of singing was unlikely before I joined the choir in my sophomore year. I reminisce about the days before I started singing in public. When I sang in the shower, my family would often (politely) tell me to shut up. It was my experience in the choir that allowed me to experiment with singing and to grow as a person. It has largely shaped who I am today, where I am and who I know.

Because of all of this, I consider it a privilege to participate in the youth choir as an advisor these few years later. I now realize what a fantastic opportunity it is for young people to work so hard on something with a purpose greater than just themselves. That is the wonderfully refreshing part of the annual choir tour: it never feels like it's about meeting individual needs. It remains a pursuit of greater purpose, and I'm proud to still be a part of that.

Choir tours are generally positive experiences, highlighted by the spreading of "warm fuzzies" (encouraging, kind notes given to one another) and "God moments" (any spiritually sustaining experience, whether strictly religious or not). This past choir tour was no different. I personally experienced and witnessed a number of wonderful, encouraging things. Unfortunately, not everything on choir tour is warm and fuzzy. I also saw, along with my road companion, Noel, a tragic and upsetting element of life somewhere along our road trip back home. He and I came across a woman.

Although I can remember the details of that night, including the woman's name, the tone in her voice as she said it, even, and the exact town we were in, I think it best not to disclose all of that information.

It was Saturday, and Noel and I were driving a rental truck full of show props, costumes and technical equipment back to New Jersey. We stopped for the night somewhere along the way. There we found a motel, paid for a room and drove the truck down the street to the finest establishment in town: Denny's.

Our meal satisfied us after a long day of driving. The Denny's was actually packed, and it took a little while to get and pay our bill. Once we had done that, though, we headed for the door to go to the truck. As we left, I clearly noticed a woman turn to follow us. I held the door for her and twisted back to see that she put her hand on it before I let go. She quickly looked down and mumbled something that could have been a "thank you." I turned back around and started walking in the direction of the truck. She then said, louder but still with hesitancy, "Excuse me, fellas. Do you think you could help me out?" I knew even before she asked that she was going to - there was just something about the way she followed us out of the restaurant. Noel and I both assumed she was asking for money, and he replied, before I could think of what to say, "I'm sorry, miss, but we don't have anything." She apologized profusely and walked away. I felt bad, but I truly didn't have cash anyway. We walked toward the truck and I thought to myself that she hadn't even asked for money in the first place. I wondered what she needed.

We drove the block and a half back to the motel. It was an unexceptional place, about ten inches off the interstate. We parked the truck and walked to the back to retrieve our luggage. As Noel was unlocking and unpacking the truck, I noticed her again. She had followed us to the motel parking lot. I didn't see her hop out of a car, though. She seemed to appear out of nowhere. At first, I was a little creeped out. I didn't really know what she expected from us. She spoke first, apologizing again. She then reiterated her plea, "I really need some help." I went so far as to reach into my pockets in a show that I did not have any cash. I felt a few coins in my right pocket. It seemed insulting, but I pulled them out and placed them into her hand. Noel wasn't looking. I could tell he was uncomfortable, too. As I did this, I got close enough to her face to make out her expression in the harsh light of the motel parking lot. I saw her right eye and my heart immediately broke. I couldn't make out the different parts of her eye - it was all blood red. She was bruised, distraught. Noel and I offered some food.

"Oh, I'm not stupid enough to leave without provisions," she said assuredly. Her composure showed through her distress. She told us where she was from, hundreds of miles from the motel parking lot. She didn't seem like she was accustomed to begging for money.

"I'll probably go back, ya know? I just left to get some air," she muttered, looking at the gravelly ground.

I felt helpless to help her. Noel apologized again, saying he had nothing to give. "All we can do is pray for you," he said.

She looked up; her tone of voice changed. "Oh, no," she said. "That's wonderful. I could really use the prayer." She spoke as if she could have cried. She told us her name.

"Well, good luck," said Noel.

By this time Noel had gotten the bags out of the truck and closed it up. We walked toward our motel room. She turned to walk the other way, toward a car of people. That was the last we saw or heard of her. I wonder where she is now. I don't know the extent of her situation. I really don't know anything about her. I just sit here and think about how I don't pray. I don't have anyone to pray to. I have thought about her. I've wished her well. Is that the same thing? Is that "just as good?" You can ask, "Kevin, why are you posting this story?" The answer: I don't pray, but maybe I'm posting this story in hopes that you do.