Free More Than Words: Stories of Hope by Diana Palmer, Catherine Mann, Kasey Michaels Page B

everybody else who’s involved in it. She may have some ideas.”
    “I’ll do that,” Mary promised.
    “Meanwhile,” he drawled, “don’t forget Sunday.”
    She had forgotten. Her wide-eyed stare made him burst out laughing.
    “Well, that puts me in my place,” he said with a grin. “I’llhave to stop strutting and thinking I’m God’s gift to overworked womanhood.”
    She smiled at him. “You’re a nice guy, Matt. I’d only forgotten today. I’d have remembered when I went home, because it’s all the kids talk about.”
    “So I made an impression, did I?”
    “A big one,” she agreed. “They like you.”
    “I’m glad. I like them. A lot.”
    “Speaking of the movies, it turns out Tammy has a prior commitment and can’t watch the baby after all. Looks like he’d be joining us. Hope that’s okay.”
    “No problem,” Matt reassured her.
    “Hey, are you guys coming, or what?” Sam called from the parking lot. “We’re running behind schedule.”
    “Sorry, Sam,” Mary said at once, preceding Matt out the door. “Let’s go!”
     
    They had a routine of sorts by now, through the various shelters and homeless camps. People came out to meet them when they saw the headlights, and there were beaming faces when the smell of food wafted out of the containers that were presented to the staff for their residents.
    “We never had stuff like this to eat before,” one disabled young woman commented to Mary at the women’s shelter. “You sure are nice to do this for us.”
    “You’re very welcome,” Mary said, searching for the right words.
    The young woman smiled and walked away to the kitchen as quickly as she could with her crutches.
    “That’s Anna. She has multiple sclerosis,” the shelter manager told Mary quietly. “Usually she’s in a wheelchair, but it got stolen two days ago when she left it outside the stall in a rest room a block away.” She shook her head. “Imagine, somebody stealing a woman’s wheelchair and nobody noticing!”
    “How did she get here?” Mary wondered.
    “One of our regulars saw her holding on to walls trying to walk. She came back here and borrowed our spare crutches that I keep in the office for Anna. She’s been using them ever since, but it’s hard for her to walk with wasted muscles.”
    “Is there some sort of program that could get her a wheelchair?”
    The woman grimaced. “She’d probably qualify if she could get into the system. That’s the problem. We have to have a caseworker come here and fill out forms, then there’s a waiting period, and she might or might not get accepted on the first try. Bureaucracy is slow.”
    Mary sighed. “If I had the money, I’d buy her a wheelchair,” she said.
    “Me, too,” the shelter manager said quietly.
    They exchanged glances.
    “No matter how much we do, it’s like filling up a barrel with a teaspoon, isn’t it?” Mary asked. “There’s so much need, and so few people trying to meet it. Federal and state and local programs do what they can. But there are limits to any budget, and so many people fall through the cracks.”
    “That’s true.”
    “I found that out the hard way,” Mary said.
    “You?” the manager exclaimed.
    “I’m living in a motel room with three kids, holding down a full-time job, six days a week, sometimes seven, and I do this after I get off, every day,” Mary told her. “Because no matter how bad things are for me, everybody I meet in these shelters is so much worse off.”
    “My dear,” the manager said, lost for words.
    “It’s been a learning experience for all of us,” Mary told her. “We’ve learned so much about human nature since we began this project. And despite our own circumstances, people have just been so kind to us,” she emphasized. “I never knew how kind total strangers could be until we ended up like this.”
    “I like the feeling I get when I know I’ve helped someone out of a particularly bad spot, given them hope,” the manager