love letter to a friend

For days, I felt compelled to write a "love letter to the poor". The outcome of the letter is completely different than what I imagined. It became a letter to a student I met a few years ago. Our times outside of the program were the most significant times. Meals were sacred moments. God reminded me that this is good ministry - it's within those sacred moments where our differences fade and commonalities are shared. It's easy to get bunched up about "helping the poor" with superficial, religious notions.  I can't say that I'm completely past those notions, but reminded today that investment in a person is for a lifetime and God is calling me to "feed" His sheep. I intend on striving towards that goal. What started out as a "love letter to the poor" has become a letter to a friend - for as God's love turns an enemy into a brother, it turns "the poor" into a friend. 


We laughed at the same things and enjoyed meals together. We shared the same stories about our moms with their loving but overbearing personalities. 

You revealed to me your secrets and I, a few of mine. We became like best friends during the countless car rides and conversations at Pollo Loco. Chicken baked ziti with lots of cheese and a can of coke were among your favorite meals. You introduced me to the icy pina colada in your hood. 

I'd drop you off at your rinky-dink apartment in Brooklyn and I'd head east towards the L.I.E. where the roads got smoother and wider.

It's normally around 11pm when I arrive home. The porch lights are usually on as I drive into my long driveway. This is perhaps the only time that I remember our stark differences in wealth. 

If only you knew I lived in a home such as this one. Guilt hits almost every time. Would you look at me differently? Would you categorize me with the rich and stop being yourself with me?

Lights off within 30 minutes, I'd say a prayer for you as I lay in bed before falling asleep. 

You tried committing suicide and sent me a text message about it. You're alive today but not many people know your story. I do.

We spent so much time trying to find you a job. Countless hours were spent studying for the GED. Those goals were never met. But still, you said I had helped you so much somehow. You said if you ever became rich one day, you'd buy me a house. 

One day, we will both grow old and there will be no more distinction between you and I. When people ask how we met, we'll just say we go way back - and with a knowing glance - we'll know it's past your days as a single mother living without welfare, suffering through domestic violence and wondering if things would ever change. All of these things will become a thing of the past. 

Until those things come to pass, we will remain friends.

I will see you to the end.