Until I'm Loved Again

A Gut Feeling

Meredith

As a single mom of three little girls, I've learned to listen to my gut.

I didn't listen the day Stella came home from school, quiet and reserved, not willing to talk about anything that happened that day. I told myself, "She's tired, and she just started at a new school. She'll adjust." She wasn't tired, she was being bullied mercilessly.

I didn't listen when I noticed Natalie squinting at the TV. I told myself, "She's just annoyed that she didn't get to pick the show." I let her squint for weeks before I finally took her to the eye doctor. She wasn't irritated, she was halfway to legally blind.

I didn't listen the day I found my three-year-old baby Ella, staring at the floor, walking in circles, singing the same song over and over, for over four hours. I told myself, "She's fine, she's entertaining herself." She wasn't fine. She was understimulated and anxious, and was showing signs of autism that I was doing everything I could to avoid noticing.

I didn't listen the day my husband died.

So these days, when I got that gut feeling, I listened.

The more I listened, the more I heard. Some people think the "gut feeling" is your subconscious trying to send you messages through your nervous system. Some people think it's some energetic exchange; clairvoyance or psychic power or voodoo. Some people think it's a fluke.

But I found that the more I listened, the more I opened myself up, the more clear His voice became.

Instead, when I was in the grocery store and I heard Him say, "she needs an extra five bucks to pay for her groceries this week," I dropped a bill on the floor as I passed.

And when I was out running errands, and I passed a man on the street corner, and I heard Him say, "he's cold. He needs a coat," I went to Walmart and bought one, and drove it back to him.

And when I watched two of my closest, most precious friends hold each other's hands in the church parking lot, and mutually decide to end their marriage, and I heard Him say, "They are mine, and they are one, do not stop praying for them," I made sure I prayed for them every day, regardless of how bad it looked.

So the day a dirty, anxious, suspicious looking red-head showed up at church, and I heard Him say, "she needs protection," I didn't hesitate. I walked right up to her.

"Hey there," I started, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. She jumped and whirled around, her bright blue eyes flashing and darting like she had been smacked in the face.

"Hi," she said, trying to recover. She straightened and smoothed her dirty sweater down over her chest. "Hi," she said again, her smile more genuine, despite the sheer panic in her eyes.

"Are you new here?"

"Oh, yeah. I just heard about this church a few days ago, so I thought I'd stop by." Her smile was forced. Fake. A mask that didn't reach her darting, panicked eyes.

She was terrified.

"Would you like a cup of tea?"

Her Adam's apple bobbed. Wordlessly, she nodded. I led her to the kitchen.

"How did you hear about Faith Hill?"

"There was a sign at the Ingles, about a potluck? It said all were welcome?"

She's hungry.

"Yes, we have one tonight. You should stay, you'll meet lots of people. When did you move to town?"

"Very recently. I heard wonderful things about your cute little town."

She's on the run.

"That's great. Where are you staying?"

"Oh, just down the road. Off Oak avenue."

That road ends in a field. She's homeless.

I stared at the girl. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with bright red hair that was dirty and oily, but could be gorgeous if it was clean. Her eyes were a clear, light blue, but they were clouded with fear. Her face was clean from dirt, but her skin was pale, like she'd lost the glow of life.

Protect her.

"Do you have a job yet? Are you looking to settle here?" I handed her the styrofoam cup of mediocre Earl Grey and she held it to her face, inhaling. Her eyes blinked rapidly as she opened them and bobbed the tea bag up and down, facing me again.

"Maybe. I'd love to find something here. This town is so charming, and so far, everyone here has been really nice. I read your church's website and it looked so... hopeful." Her red brimmed eyes blinked again and she took a sip of the hot tea, not yet fully brewed.

I knew that look, and that act. She was doing everything in her power not to appear helpless and vulnerable.

"Well... are you any good with kids?"

"Oh, my goodness, yes. I love kids! And they love me. Is that bragging? I hope that's not bragging." Her smile seemed genuine for the first time.

Protect her.

"Well, my kids are out of school until the second week of August, and I work full time. I'm looking for a live-in nanny."

I couldn't believe the words that were coming out of my mouth.

The words were true, but terrifying. I didn't know this woman, or where she came from, or why she was homeless, on the run, and unemployed. I didn't know anything about her.

But I had that gut feeling. And I'd learned to trust it.

"Oh, God," she whispered. Her eyes brimmed with the unshed tears she was fighting so hard against. "That sounds exactly like that I'm looking for."

The words flowed out of my mouth, like I wasn't in charge of my own body. "You'd have your own room, and you'd eat with us. I would need you to care for them from eight in the morning to around six in the evening, when I got home. I'd love for you to start dinner. I'm happy to negotiate a salary that works for you. There's three of them. Stella is eight, Natalie is six, and Ella is four. They're good kids, but they're a handful. They lost their dad a few years ago."

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It was hard on all of them. Especially Stella. But she's doing okay. Maybe we can eat together at the potluck tonight and you can meet them?"

"I would love that." A bright smile full of joy and relief filled her face.

"I'm Meredeth." I offered my hand.

She hesitated, but reached forward. Her hands were scraped, and she extended her arm just far enough to take mine. The bruise on her forearm peeked out from under her shirt.

Protect her.

"Sylvia. I'm Sylvia... Woods." Like she was trying to decide which name to give me.

"I'd better see you tonight, Sylvia Woods."

"Yes ma'am."

I left her leaning against the counter while she sipped her tea. My heart raced, my palms were damp. Settling myself in my usual spot, I sent up a wordless, silent prayer, begging for guidance and reassurance that I'd made the right choice by inviting a homeless, unemployed, unknown woman into my home to guard my children.

She is precious. Protect her.

"As you wish," I whispered back.

Some people called it the nervous system. Some called it voodoo.

But I knew His name.