Her Name is Georgia, Part 2

(This post is a continuation of Her Name is Georgia, Part 1. Please read it first if you haven’t already.)

“And the King will say, ‘I tell you the truth, when you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you were doing it to me!” – Matthew 25:40

“It’s way too cold for anyone to be out in this weather. Can I give you a ride?” I asked her. She replied, “Yes, that would be nice.” Georgia was thankful to be out of the wind, even though she said exercising eases her struggle with fibromyalgia. She walks because it makes her feel better. That’s why she’s always on the move.

Georgia said she was headed to the bank, which was probably at least 1 ½ miles from where we were. As I drove, I enjoyed getting to know my new friend. I discovered that Georgia grew up in California. She never married nor had children of her own. However, she worked as a kindergarten teacher for several years. Judging by her kind disposition and warm personality, I was sure she was an excellent one.

When we arrived at her house, Georgia asked me to come in for a few minutes. I was thankful that she trusted me enough to invite me into her world. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but because she’s always impeccably dressed, I imagined her home would be tidy and clean. I was right.

What I saw, though, caused a deep ache in my heart that’s indescribable. In the middle of Georgia’s living room was a group of about 30 stuffed animals, all placed neatly in rows and facing a small television.

Georgia introduced me to her “babies” and took great pride in showing them off. What was interesting was that most of the animals made noises. At the push of a button, they would sing or talk. It made me sad to think that such sounds were probably the only voices that ever broke through the silence in Georgia’s home.

With no car, no phone, and no family in the area, Georgia probably goes days without talking to a single soul. Even though she might occasionally have conversations with employees at stores she frequents or tellers at the bank, for the most part, Georgia is all alone.

I knew from that first encounter that I would see Georgia again. I had to. There was no way I could walk out the door, drive away, and forget about her. God had put Georgia in my life for a reason and it wasn’t just to give her a ride.

Comments

  1. Terrific post(s). A great story. With more to come?

    Gloria and I have spent many hours with homeless or lonely folks. Sometimes it make you wonder who’s ministering to whom? Eh?

    May I please recommend the book, Same Kind of Different as Me, by Ron Hall and Denver Moore. One of the wonderfulest books we’ve ever read. A rich man and a homeless man become best friends.

  2. Paul, you’re exactly right. I feel as if I’m the one being most blessed. Thanks for your recommendation on the book. I’ll definitely have to check it out. 🙂