Meeting Saint Ruth
Two weeks ago, I had a meeting at a women’s and children’s shelter with a group who is planning an Outreach Project for a teen girl’s organization that I’m involved in. The Day Shelter is downtown in one of the most poverty stricken areas of the inner city. Women fleeing dangerous or impoverished situations are able to find shelter, food, clothing and sundries for themselves and their children. This place is way outside my comfort zone.
There were five of us who went down for the meeting with the Director of the facility. Her name is Ruth. And there is no doubt in my mind that she’s a Saint.
Ruth is a slight woman, probably in her sixties, with plenty of silver in her hair and lines on her face to mark her years. She wore a simple black pant suit that had seen plenty of wear, with a stretchy band of keys wrapped around her forearm. And as she told us the story of the Day Shelter and its humble beginnings, there was a constant stream of interruption:
“Miss Ruth, where should we put these donations?”
“Miss Ruth, who should we call to pick up these boxes?”
“Miss Ruth, do you know where we can find the extra bus tokens?”
And so on, it went. She somehow had the ability to share her story with us as she patiently answered the questions that came in like ants tracking across a kitchen floor after spilled sugar.
She shared the Shelter’s humble beginnings: homemade sandwiches from her Methodist Ladies Bible Study that they would share with hungry women and children, offered from the trunk of a car. And then someone donated a small office in the back of their building, where they continued their “sandwich ministry”. They soon brought old, discarded clothing and blankets that often provided the only warmth on a chilly night under the overpass for a mother and child. Someone heard of their efforts and offered them another building for $600 a month rent and even though they didn’t have resources of that kind, they jumped at the chance. After two months of begging people for rent money, the owner of the building decided to join their cause and loaned Miss Ruth the building rent-free.
That building was 1100 square feet. And as I sat there listening to her, my mind’s eye flew to my own home and the more than 3000 square feet of living space that my family enjoys (and often doesn’t take care of) and the guilt of that nearly took my breath away.
Quickly on the heels of that, I heard what I’m certain was the Voice of the Holy Spirit, “You are in the presence of a Saint.” And I knew it to be true, without a doubt. And for some strange reason, tears sprung to my eyes and before long, I couldn’t control the flow.
The entire rest of the time Miss Ruth told her story, I just sat, weeping silently. And it wasn’t just from guilt or sorrow as I listened to her twenty-two year struggle to feed and clothe and cherish her “clients”, as she calls these homeless women. It was because I was in the presence of someone who was perfectly doing God’s Will.
Now I don’t know anything else about Miss Ruth other than what she told me during this meeting. But I know, without a doubt, that this woman is one who serves God, and loves God, and knows God. Her sharing of the great needs of the Day Shelter and how their needs are being met is nothing short of miraculous. In fact, she told of miracle after miracle where they were up against great adversity, only to have roadblocks melt away after prayer and the intervention of the Holy Spirit.
So in the midst of the chaos of this Day Shelter, where I was faced with things I normally see only on TV, I felt God’s Presence. He was there in the women I saw. He was there in the Food Bank donations. He was there in the gifts of clothing and other basic life necessities as I watched Him provide for these impoverished women and children: the marginalized and forgotten. Those pushed to the outer edges of our society where we can easily forget them.
I am haunted by Miss Ruth. I am convinced that I was in the presence of a Saint. And I am praying that I will never forget.
Lest I be forgotten.
There were five of us who went down for the meeting with the Director of the facility. Her name is Ruth. And there is no doubt in my mind that she’s a Saint.
Ruth is a slight woman, probably in her sixties, with plenty of silver in her hair and lines on her face to mark her years. She wore a simple black pant suit that had seen plenty of wear, with a stretchy band of keys wrapped around her forearm. And as she told us the story of the Day Shelter and its humble beginnings, there was a constant stream of interruption:
“Miss Ruth, where should we put these donations?”
“Miss Ruth, who should we call to pick up these boxes?”
“Miss Ruth, do you know where we can find the extra bus tokens?”
And so on, it went. She somehow had the ability to share her story with us as she patiently answered the questions that came in like ants tracking across a kitchen floor after spilled sugar.
She shared the Shelter’s humble beginnings: homemade sandwiches from her Methodist Ladies Bible Study that they would share with hungry women and children, offered from the trunk of a car. And then someone donated a small office in the back of their building, where they continued their “sandwich ministry”. They soon brought old, discarded clothing and blankets that often provided the only warmth on a chilly night under the overpass for a mother and child. Someone heard of their efforts and offered them another building for $600 a month rent and even though they didn’t have resources of that kind, they jumped at the chance. After two months of begging people for rent money, the owner of the building decided to join their cause and loaned Miss Ruth the building rent-free.
That building was 1100 square feet. And as I sat there listening to her, my mind’s eye flew to my own home and the more than 3000 square feet of living space that my family enjoys (and often doesn’t take care of) and the guilt of that nearly took my breath away.
Quickly on the heels of that, I heard what I’m certain was the Voice of the Holy Spirit, “You are in the presence of a Saint.” And I knew it to be true, without a doubt. And for some strange reason, tears sprung to my eyes and before long, I couldn’t control the flow.
The entire rest of the time Miss Ruth told her story, I just sat, weeping silently. And it wasn’t just from guilt or sorrow as I listened to her twenty-two year struggle to feed and clothe and cherish her “clients”, as she calls these homeless women. It was because I was in the presence of someone who was perfectly doing God’s Will.
Now I don’t know anything else about Miss Ruth other than what she told me during this meeting. But I know, without a doubt, that this woman is one who serves God, and loves God, and knows God. Her sharing of the great needs of the Day Shelter and how their needs are being met is nothing short of miraculous. In fact, she told of miracle after miracle where they were up against great adversity, only to have roadblocks melt away after prayer and the intervention of the Holy Spirit.
So in the midst of the chaos of this Day Shelter, where I was faced with things I normally see only on TV, I felt God’s Presence. He was there in the women I saw. He was there in the Food Bank donations. He was there in the gifts of clothing and other basic life necessities as I watched Him provide for these impoverished women and children: the marginalized and forgotten. Those pushed to the outer edges of our society where we can easily forget them.
I am haunted by Miss Ruth. I am convinced that I was in the presence of a Saint. And I am praying that I will never forget.
Lest I be forgotten.
posted by Dixie @ 5:32 AM
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