Aldonza

“The world’s a dung heap and we are maggots that crawl on it!”

                                                                                Aldonza in “The Man of La Mancha”

   Quite the worldview isn’t it?  For those of us who have seen the play, “The Man of la Mancha”, we recognize this quote coming from a hardened, abused servant girl. Don Quijote sees beyond her reality to who she is and potentially could be: the noble lady, “Dulcinea”.  I have recently had dealings with a young woman whose life and attitudes remind me of Aldonza in her cynicism and resignation.  

   I met “Sam” when she was leaving a detention centre after visiting her incarcerated boyfriend.  It was cold and raining that day and she looked like a little lost puppy. “Sam” is in her mid-20’s and although still attractive, shows the undeniable signs of the ravages of drug use on her face and in the way she carries herself.  When I first saw her she was having trouble negotiating the various locked doors that a visitor to a detention centre must face and her frustration was causing her to show anger to the officer sitting behind darkened glass, who delayed in pushing the buttons that released the door.  I whispered to her that it was best to wait until she heard the click of an unlocked door instead of yelling at him impatiently. She listened and calmed.

    She told me it was her first time visiting but that she had been a “resident” of the detention centre, released earlier that week. The early winter rain was beating down pretty hard when we got out of the jail so “Sam” asked if I could give her a ride to the bus stop.  I threw up a quick prayer, asking God for wisdom, and protection, then told her I would.

    In the car I started asking questions about her life which she answered with simple, naïve innocence that left me with the certainty that this girl was at great risk of harm and exploitation.  She told me about her struggles with an addiction to opiates and trying to make ends meet while on welfare.  She was renting a space in a rooming house, from a landlord that bullied his tenants and had threatened violence to her.  She was constantly under pressure for sexual favours.  She didn’t feel she was worth of any better, after al, what was she? An "addict."  A failure. Her openness as she talked was a call for help.  I gave her some ideas about how to get support for her drug use, and offered to spend some time with her either trying to find a safer place to live or connecting with workers in town that could help her.  I let her know I am a follower of Christ and that the God who created her loves her and wanted to see her safe.  I prayed with her for God’s protection and leading.  I could tell from her eyes that “God-talk” was a foreign language. We exchanged cell phone numbers and talked about meeting the next week.  She seemed so young and at risk of overdose and/or sexual exploitation. She agreed with me but was not willing to go to detox or make any other changes at that time.  As I left her at her “home”, I was not confident I would ever see her again.  An unsolicited show of gratitude through a text message she sent minutes later surprised me and also showed me there was something there.

    It was 9 months before I saw her again.  During that time I would send text messages, reminding her of the supports available if she wanted to change the direction of her life and just checking in to see how she was doing.  With each of those texts I would invite her to our London Dismas group.  Sometimes she would respond back, other times, no.  Then one day recently, I got a response asking me if I could help her leave the city where, if she stayed, she would “either die or go to jail.”  She sounded distressed. That gave impetus to a series of text messages that resulted in an offer of a bus ticket to go home to where her family lives. I wasn’t going to be able to see her for a week but a colleague of mine in London was willing to put her on a bus that day.  I don’t think she expected such an immediate response and asked if it could wait until the end of the month so she could get her next social assistance cheque.  I agreed to get together with her the next time I was in the city and she gave me an address and a time to meet her and her latest “boyfriend.”

    I picked her up at the place she was staying, in the back of a mechanic’s garage. I took her boyfriend to his doctor’s appointment and her for a coffee so we could talk.  She related to me that during the past few months she had been: beaten up, had all her belongings stolen, evicted, homeless, bouncing from man to man and, through it all, injecting opiates into her veins.  Now she knew she needed to get out. In spite of all she has experienced, she still maintained that naïve innocence. It was so very clear to me that although she was scared and didn’t like the lifestyle she was trapped in, she also didn’t believe she deserved anything better or different. Her worldview was stained by a sense of her own worthlessness and just reinforced by the people who had used her. Even though she knew life could be different, she had either lost, or was losing hope that it ever could be different for her. 

   I talked to her about the God who made her, sees her as precious, and loves her so much that he came to earth to die for her. She didn’t buy it.  She asked for proof.  She said: “I can’t see that God, where is he?” I talked about how I knew, from my own experience about Him.  I talked about people I know and am currently involved with whose lives are being radically changed by that God. I shared about how I believe He is working now, in her, and how He is showing He is real by reaching out to her. We spent about an hour together that day and I invited her and her boyfriend to join me that evening for a meal at the Dismas fellowship meeting.  She hummed and hawed and said she would think about it, but it seemed like a “no.”  She expressed nervousness about going to a church, feeling that she wouldn’t fit in.

    That afternoon, just as we were starting the Dismas fellowship, I sent her another text message, reminding her of the meeting and inviting her again.  She said, “yes”, so I went to pick her and her boyfriend up.  Maybe it was the promise of a meal that drew them.  Maybe it was that I had purchased a bus ticket out of town for her at the end of the month that convinced her she wanted to know more about what makes Christians tick. Or, maybe it was the fact that her brother had become a Christian recently and he had told her he was going to pray for her that made her change her mind and take a step of faith to join us that night.  I don’t know, but she came.  In the Dismas group she met others who were struggling with addictions.  She met others who had spent time being homeless, or in jail.  She heard their stories of relapse and recovery.  She heard of God’s grace and desire to rescue and redeem.  It was no longer so easy for her to say: “I don’t see God, where is he?”

     After the meeting, as I was driving them back to the garage, “Sam” talked about her brother and the changes she had seen in his life. She thanked me for inviting her to Dismas. I reminded her again of God’s desire to work in her and to give her a life she can feel good about.  I spoke with her of God’s purpose for her life. I will see “Sam” one more time I expect- when I go and pick her up and take her to the bus station so she can use the ticket. I told her that one-day, I hope to hear from her again, telling me that she is safe, that she is clean, and that she is now seeking the God who loves her so much that He was willing to die for her.  

     This world is messed up- because we are messed up.  As followers of Jesus we need to see past the dung heap with maggots crawling on it that Aldonza saw, and remind people like Sam, that the God who created the universe and made us in His image longs to transform each of us, and through us this “out of order” world.