Take The First Step

When Simon Peter heard that it was the Lord, he put on his tunic (for he had stripped for work), jumped into the water, and swam ashore. John 21:7

Every single day she walked across the street. Renette was living in a white barrio, and hope, to her, seemed just across the street. She would stand for hours and wait until I finished teaching a class of children. I would always walk over and say the simplest thing, “How are you today?”

That’s all it would take for her to peek from behind her long disheveled bangs and answer. At first with just a shrug, then with a word or two, like “Okay, I guess.” She’d walk with me to my car, often carrying files or boxes—anything to delay reentry into her house.

I knew I’d broken through when one day she said, “I don’t want to go home.” Then came the story: an alcoholic mother and an abusive stepfather. Mom’s anger would be sparked by the slightest offense, and Renette would get hit with the nearest object: an iron, a TV cord, a catalog, or a pan.

“Honey, call the police, they will help.”

“No, they won’t,” she replied. “I am eighteen. They say I don’t have to live there. But where will I go?”

“Anywhere, somewhere—I’ll help you find somewhere!”

Are you feeling like Renette? There is a somewhere. There’s always somewhere when you reach out for help from a stable person who cares. It may feel like a leap, a jump into the unknown, but the smartest step Renette made was that first step to cross the street to meet a woman who seemed kind to children. Take a step.