Lost in desert wild
Is your little child…
Early last year I stopped at a hole-in-the-wall gas-station on the outskirts of Washington North Carolina — a small town in the middle of the eastern part of the state.
A beautiful young blond assisted me at the register. She must have been about sixteen, had bright blue eyes and a southern accent that melted my heart.
Hovering near at hand (with lust in their eyes) was an assortment of large negros. One must have been six-five and weighed close to four-hundred pounds. He was wearing an apron and I assumed he worked at the grill. Another of the negros was dressed as if he too worked at the store. The third I took for a lackey, hanging out with his pals.
Presiding over them was an old white woman with a raspy, ciggarette-ruined voice. She was overweight and smelled so strong, I could distinguish her from the cloud of afro-sheen. To add to her villany, she was flirting with the negros — touching their arms, giggling at inappropriate moments and displaying a disregard for all the propriety a white lady (in her late fifties) should observe.
My heart went out to the poor girl at the register. I’ve mentioned her to some of my friends and they’ve accused me of having inappropriate sexual feelings for the girl (jokingly, of course — though I didn’t think very highly of the joke.)
No, my attraction isn’t depraved or sinful; I believe my concern for the girl arises from a heart that’s still pumping (even if weakly, at times.) This poor girl has no chance in the world unless God rains down a miracle.
After repeated visits to the store, I found out that the old woman was the girl’s grandmother. Despite her flirtation with the negros, she had shacked up with some low-class red-neck who carried on a conversation with me once, while I was pumping gas.
“The owner of this store done tryin’ ta screw us over, my girl-fren n’ me!” he declared, referring to the old woman as his girl-friend.
Apparently, honest work was below this man and he displayed an unfortunate belief in the class-theory of Marxism. “The evil coporations were taking undue advantage of him and his girlfriend.”
I can only guess what this poor girl’s homelife is like and after talking with her grandmother’s live-in boyfriend, I was all the more convinced that I should do something — interject myself into the girl’s life somehow…
…but what to do?
I don’t live near Washington NC and so I can’t be a regular part of her life. I don’t have enough money to hire her or create a new life for her somewhere else (and even if I did, I’m not convinced that would be healthy. It seems a little presumptuous.) Sharing the Gospel with her would be all but worthless since she’s likely so biased about Christianity that it would take years of teaching to help her see the true state of theology, the world and her situation in it.
So, what to do?
I decided awhile back that I’d give her a copy of Sheridan Le Fanu’s “Uncle Silas” and address it to her from an “anonymous benefactor who has a special interest in your well-being and wishes to see your life resolve itself into a happy set of circumstances, just like the heroine in this novel.”
But, over the months other things came up and I forgot about all this. Even when I thought about it from time to time, I wasn’t convinced it would be the best course of action.
Today, I happened through Washington NC again and stopped at the store to check in on her.
The beautiful blond-haired, blue-eyed girl, had her hair up in some style that is popular among negresses. Her lip was pierced in a gaudy and unappealing fashion and her fingernails were covered in large, brightly-colored fake-nails (also popular among the negresses.)
I talked with her a little more and heard subtle (though sinister) hints of afro-slang in her vocabulary.
The rage I have towards Satan on behalf of this girl is unspeakable. Something has to be done.
And I feel like a helpless observer.
So, please tell me, ye educated bloggers (and even ye uneducated who, nevertheless, have beating-hearts)…
What should I do?