Finishing Well

     I put myself in the shoes of someone who is displaced, marginalized, oppressed, even homeless. I pondered if I was in their situation - wondered how I would respond and react to people who "helped" me.      Would I scoff the "do-gooder"? Would I take from them and walk away? Would I be embarrassed or ashamed? Several "attitudes" crossed my mind as to my response.      So, hear me, "do-gooder" - SEE me, HEAR me, walk beside me in my journey. Walk a mile in my shoes comes to mind.      Don't look at me with disdain, or scorn, or pity. Don't just give me what I need, food or clothing or money or transportation. Give me Jesus! He touched people......physically touched them. He healed them. He taught them. He admonished them to stop their sin. Told them to pick up their mat of affliction and move on, take action.      I want to be a "do-gooder" I want to help people.....but I want to do it with the compassion and love of Jes

     Honest blogging right here, but I'm not writing it for sympathy or understanding or out of malice. So don't shoot me. And don't get me wrong, I am not bashing my mother. It's just because the generation I came up in was "different" from today and some of our parents didn't show affection or say I love you like we hear often today.  Perhaps they weren't taught......just didn't know how. I don't know.      Mother grew up poor, and so she worked hard to have things. Her dad, "Pop" to us, was a hard, quiet man and her mother died when I was 5 so I didn't know her and never was told anything about her, another trait of their generation - we don't talk about things, period.       I have no recollection of being hugged or kissed or told I was loved. I realize now that I have a lot of that in me too, and I have to work hard to show love. I feel like I don't do it well.  It was all about work, mother and Daddy both worked