Sugar

Have I told you the story of the homeless woman who may have been an angel?

Three years ago, I was in the first year of my counseling program in Chicago. My classmates and I had finished our second semester and decided to celebrate with a Mexican dinner the following week. We passed around a list of what everyone would bring, and I said to them, “I’ll make a cake because next Wednesday is my birthday!”

The following week I got up extra early before work to make a Tres Leches cake – moist, messy, sweet dairy goodness. I was very excited to bring it, and to celebrate my birthday with this new group of friends I was getting to know. I sealed it all up in a carrying case, brought it to work and put it in the refrigerator so it would stay cold all day, then carefully carried it as I hurried from my car to the train station in University Park, then onto the train, then down the few blocks to school on Michigan Avenue.

Between our classes, during the time we had scheduled for our dinner, I noticed two things that hurt my feelings. One, no one remembered I had said the week before that it was my birthday, and two, hardly anyone tried the cake. I was too shy/ polite/ insecure/ afraid/ proud…whatever, to speak up, but by the time the evening’s classes were over, I was carrying my wounded feelings and my almost full cake pan back to the train to go home.

Most weeks I had to rush to catch the train, but this Wednesday we had gotten out early, so I was walking slowly. My school bag and cake were the lightest parts of my load. The mental load was much heavier. I was beginning to realize that I was going to have to give up my dearest love – teaching Kindergarten – sooner than anticipated to pursue this new direction and to better care for my girls. The girls were struggling mentally, medically, emotionally, and as they do, taking out the bulk of their frustrations on me. My finances were stretched thin, my emotions were stretched thin, my time was stretched to the thinnest of thin, I felt incredibly lonely, and my spirit was just weary.

And no one had enjoyed my cake.

I love looking at people’s faces in the city, so I was glancing around as I walked, and I spotted a homeless woman huddled next to a building. Being mid-March, it was chilly still, so she was bundled, but her bright eyes peeked out from her hood and caught mine, and I remember getting the impression in that split second that we had an unspoken kinship; something in common in our spirits. That’s happened before. I call it “Jesus eyes.” (I’ll tell you more stories about that on another day). I smiled at her and kept walking.

I walked about half a block, and then felt compelled to go back and talk to her. I approached her and asked, “Would you like some cake?” She smiled and said yes.

I squatted down and undid the cover of the cake pan. As I fumbled around in my backpack for some way to serve her the messy cake, we chatted a little, and the conversation quickly turned to troubles we had. I don’t know who mentioned it first, but we both eagerly acknowledged we had a good God who saw all our struggles and carried our burdens. I told her about my girls, knowing she likely had a similar background and could understand their struggles. As I handed her the cake, she asked if she could pray for me. I was overwhelmed with gratitude as this sister in Christ lifted me up before our Father in heaven and brought my burdens before His throne. I’m sure I was weeping, and I remember thinking that anyone walking by probably thought the white, middle-class, educated woman was the one doing the older, black, poor, homeless woman some good. They were so wrong. I was fully on the receiving end of this transaction. This woman, whose name I learned was “Sugar” was the strong one, lifting up her weaker sister. When she finished, I prayed for her as well, asking that she would find the job she so desperately was seeking and that God would put her in the path of people who could help meet her needs.

We were both smiling broadly as I bundled my things back up and headed for the train, rushing now, because I wasn’t as early as I had been a few minutes before. My spirit was lighter, the cake pan was lighter, and I carried a piece of the sweet fellowship we will have in heaven. In the following two years of school, walking that same path, I never saw Sugar again, but I still pray for her when she comes to mind, and I hope so much that she still prays for me too.