Rachael Ayres is a lifelong learner, wild dreamer, sourdough baker and traveller who loves solitude, words, ideas, fibre arts, walking long distances and spending time with family and friends. She is a member of Auckland’s Titirangi Baptist Church.
The car screeched into the parking space, coming to a sudden halt. Even before the door opened a deep pulsing bass escaped, pounding the air, felt as much as heard. A red-eyed woman hurled herself from the car towards the ATM, leaving the engine running, door wide open.
Everything about her appearance suggested struggle; from straggly hair stuffed under a beanie to PJ pants hovering two inches above her ankles and feet hanging over the back of too-small slides.
She fumbled, hand shaking as she tried to insert the card into the machine, hoping it would not be swallowed forever.
She drew her dressing gown tighter around herself, shivering against the cold.
Or was it shuddering with fear?
She needed this money.
Or more precisely, she needed what this money could buy.
Hurry up, hurry up. Spew out the money…
What if the cops got there before she did? Did they even know? Would the kids be safe? Would she make it? Could she face the disappointment?
It wasn’t meant to be this way.
Was it worth the risk? Did she even have a choice?
Yes, yes, she knew she could have made different decisions earlier.
If only she’d adjusted her expectations.
If only she’d asked for help.
If only she’d admitted…
I’m so sorry. I'll do better next time. Just let it work out today. I promise this will be the last time.
She knew what people would think when it hit the news.
Two primary-school-aged children left at home.
Alone.
Disorganised mother.
It was true and it was not going to look good.
I hope they're eating their Weetbix.
If the ATM didn't spit out $20 soon, there would be no school trip for those kids today.
------------------------------------------------------------
These words are partly true, partly imagined. I witnessed the woman, the car, the music one early winter morning as I sat in my own parked car. The whole scene shattered the peace I had been enjoying as I waited for the post office to open and made me look up from my book. I wondered about the lady. To be honest, far too quickly for my own comfort, I jumped to almost-certainly-wrong conclusions about her: I was sure she was on drugs and probably needed some more. I don't know who she was or what she was actually thinking, but I was quick to attribute motivations to her, to create a whole story about her, to jump from ‘shivering with cold’ to ‘shuddering with fear’. Was it habit, societal stereotypes or a downright judgey heart that took me there? Recognising I was doing this, I felt a strong urge to challenge my assumptions. I wondered what other explanations there could be for the scene I witnessed.
Perhaps she was sick and had decided her kids could buy their lunch that day. Perhaps she didn't even have kids and was on her way to Pajama Day at work. Maybe she had finished night shift, got ready for bed, and then remembered she’d told someone she’d get some cash for them and was now making good her promise. Maybe she wasn't in a particular hurry and that was just the way she moved through life, racing to fill her days with good things.
When I landed on her being a solo mum trying to do the best for her kids (which also may have been completely wrong) I found myself experiencing more compassion for her and even more discomfort about myself. I’d like to think I am merciful to all, but that didn’t seem to be the case here. At best, I had degrees of compassion – and that bothered me.
This insight followed me around for weeks. I noticed how I looked at people. I noticed my unintentionally judgey heart. “Get a real job” ran through my head as a young man offered to wash my windscreen at the traffic lights. “Don’t you care about who you might maim or kill?” soon followed as someone ran a red.
I also noticed that becoming aware of this meant transformation could occur. I could take captive these thoughts and make them obedient to Jesus – he could change them. He could change my heart, my motivations, my way of experiencing the world. Even after half a century of knowing him. Compassion could grow – and indeed it has – compassion for others and compassion for myself. You see, there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus. I can celebrate the transforming power of the gospel not only as something good for ‘those people over there’ (although of course it is for them), but right here in my own heart too. And who knows? It's entirely possible that the pajama lady loves Jesus and lives transformed in the freedom that Christ gives.
“We take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.” (2 Corinthians 10:5)
“So now there is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)
Photo credit: @antoniogravante from Canva.com
