Dead-end Road or Road to Life?

I rounded the bend on the dead-end road and encountered a parked vehicle.  People frequently get lost out our way so I stopped to see if I could help.  Alas, they were not lost in the sense of not knowing where they were, I know that to be true because in country-friendly fashion I pulled along side, rolled my window down and asked.  The response was less than pleasant; in fact it was somewhat belligerent, which aggravated my spidey senses.  There was no earthly reason that was good, for them to be parked on that road and the incident awoke the raging granny in me.  All the not in my neighborhood, not on my watch, rhetoric went flooding through my veins propelling me to action.

Once the dust settled, the anger and determination were replaced by other thoughts of action.  I found myself remembering the words of last week's post about the definition of casualty and the societal issues of folks who are harmed or lost.  I was challenged by the concept that the lost soul on the dead-end road was representative of the thousands of lost souls who have been sucked into the drug culture because the rest of us were afraid.  I would venture that you all knew in the first paragraph what was going down on that road without me spelling out any details.  You knew because it happens on quiet side streets in the towns and cities you live in and it feels safer and easier to carry on than to take any action to curb it.

I'm not suggesting you endanger yourself or others to make a point but a non-violent, non-aggressive presence and vigilance for reporting those incidents that make you uneasy might be a good start.  It would at least make it uncomfortable for unsavoury characters and interrupt their supply chain.  But what about the lost soul?  Well, there is one lost soul whose name I don't know who has been in my prayers all week and who will remain in my prayers.  My prayers have been that others close to the lost soul will be able to reach out and help and that the lost soul will be found and made whole again.  For whatever reason our paths crossed briefly, yet with enough potency that I desperately want that individual to find their way.  I don't want them to become a casualty.

So the pendulum swung from thinking about me and what I wanted, to thinking about them and what they needed.  My hope is that somehow, somewhere, sometime, they will be enfolded by their community and will once again find their way.  My hope is that my prayers will be heard and that some day the lost soul will tell someone else about the day on a dead-end country road when a crazy lady stopped to be friendly - the day that marked the beginning of their road back to life.