I was scurrying home. I had bowed out of a meeting to be able to get home and help get the boys to bed. My mind was a little agitated too. This was a new board put together to help bring charity status to a minstry arm of 3 house churches here in the neighborhood. It was the third time we met, and already they had to re-think and re-word their application to the current policies that the government has laid out. Hoops to jump through, snagging on a dearly held philosophy this group has on freedom to pool their money and to give to whom they want, no strings attached. I had given a two minute passionate diatribe on what true "ministry" was...not having all kinds of free time to pastor and counsel people, but the daily struggle of life, lived with and for an inner-city community. It's chatting with a neighbor on the way to your McDonald's job, its sharing a joke with a neighborhood kid next door as you shoulder your shovel to make a few bucks for the milk that day. They watch, they learn, they listen....it's Jesus in ripped jeans, a big heart, a steady hand.
I was trying to walk fast, my kids were waiting I knew. Passing by the dark houses, I heard a wail. A cat? or dog howling? As I came closer to the sound, I realized it was a voice. It was mumbling loudly something over and over and then sobbing in between. I stopped and tried to figure out which of the two houses it was coming from. One was looking pretty "together", shovelled yard, neat and tidy...the other had a boarded up front window and gnerally looked unkept and creepy. The voice wailed again, this time clearly calling in a child's tone, "I wish Samantha was hewh. I wish Samantha was hewh." and then a heart breaking sob and crying. Over and over the cry came and I was transfixed. What to do? It's 9 pm on Langside, this kid sounds completely abandoned. I looked around for help, there was one girl "working" the corner near-by...was that "Samantha"? A guy came out of the clean house next door with a bag of garbage and looked at me strange and walked away...the wails went on "I wish Samantha was hewh"...didn't he hear it? Has he locked her up somewhere in that house? Crazy ideas filled my head. I decided I'd run home and get Steve to come investigate with me. I flew in the door and shared the story, they were in the middle of their Ramoli game and didn't want to go investigate anything. So I took the car, drove back and ran to the same spot I had been standing before, the words and cry like a revolving tape player, "I wish Samatha was hewh, I wish Samantha was hewh, I wish Samantha was hewh......" It was silent, I looked around, there was light from the creepy house kitchen windown but no indication of anyone there. Shoulders slumped and head bowed, I prayed for that little girl. My heart cried for hers, her loneliness, her fear, her neglect. And I felt helpless. Why had God allowed me to hear the cry right then? Should I knock on the door, even if I was alone? like her? or was she alone? Questions still trample like elephants in a field. What to do with the heart cry on Langside.
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