no guarantees

"Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It's a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others. Compassion becomes real when we recognize our shared humanity." — Pema Chödrön (The Places That Scare You: A Guide to Fearlessness in Difficult Times)

"Most of us do not take these situations as teachings. We automatically hate them. We run like crazy. We use all kinds of ways to escape - all addictions stem from this moment when we meet our edge and we just can't stand it. We feel we have to soften it, pad it with something, and we become addicted to whatever it is that seems to ease the pain." — Pema Chödrön (When Things Fall Apart)

"I used to have a sign pinned up on my wall that read: Only to the extent that we expose ourselves over and over to annihilation can that which is indestructible be found in us...It was all about letting go of everything." —Pema Chödrön (When Things Fall Apart: Heart Advice for Difficult Times)

It is morning and Ginger and I are drinking coffee and hoping two homeless boys show up this morning. Ginger met them late one night. She had dropped her phone and they were nearby and she, as anyone would do when they notice another person coming up on them, had taken a slightly defensive stance. "Ma'am, we don't mean you any harm, but you dropped something," the older one said.

Ginger picks up strays. A few months ago she found a litter of kittens in our basement. We bought babycat food and formula and fed them for several days until the mother cat made an appearance. She was not pleased to find us there and hissed as we backed out the door. We watched through a crack in the door as she grabbed a kitten by the neck and vamoosed out a tiny gap in the window. I chased her down our alley, stupidly shouting, "Hey, you, drop that kitten!" We had a moment to decide whether to board up the window and save the rest of the kittens, or let them mother cat take them. We left the window open. They were all gone the next morning. I still think about them and wonder if we did the right thing. It would be easier if life came with a rulebook.

Ginger asked the boys to show up the next morning at 8:30 and said she'd have some work for them if they wanted it. They said, "We don't have a clock as we are staying in the park but we'll go to the grocery store and find out the time. Don't hold it against us if we are early or late, okay?"

We were more than a little charmed when they showed up. I made a mad dash to get some snacks and cold bottled water for them since they'd be outside while we both were gone. I bought pop tarts, and chips and oranges. We were charmed, but still wary. Our spidey sense was up. They worked hard and we decided to let them stay in our tiny guest house. House rules: No drugs, no drinking, no visitors, no smoking inside. We bought them some food and shorts and socks and boxers. They, of their own volition, tidied up the house and yard. We found them work with some friends renovating a house. The younger brother turned out to be a very good painter.

There were signs. Some change intentionally left on a desk in the guest house disappeared. Some other things weren't quite adding up, especially to someone who was in recovery. Ginger sniffs out some dysfunction better than I do, but we were both concerned. We called an impromptu meeting when they got back from work one day. They confessed to taking the change and hung their heads. "Should we pack up our stuff and go back outside?" We again laid ground rules. We indicated we were there to help as long as they were honest with us and followed the rules. We asked for more information and hit the no drugs gong a little harder. We let them know that they had no expectation of privacy while they were staying with us. We'd knock before entering but we were monitoring their actions as the price for staying with us. They denied any drug involvement and continued to work hard. They were respectful, but we knew we weren't getting the whole story. But why would we?

We were gathering dirty clothes to wash and we found their stash. We were sad, but not at all surprised. We called the friends who had put them to work and shared the situation. They got it. We all started reaching out for information about treatment centers in case they wanted to get help.

We decided to pack up their stuff and return it while they were at lunch in a public place. Ginger went in to talk to them in the diner and laid the rig on the table. "What is this?" They barely breathed. Neither brother spoke. They said it was heroin. She indicated if they wanted help we would rally it. They both said they did. While Ginger talked to the guys another friend and I stood in the parking lot of the diner and dialed treatment centers, emergency rooms and clinics. I was amazed at how many people we could call and humbled by how many were willing to help. We found some places where they could detox and get into treatment, but nothing until the next morning, Monday, at 9AM. We all agreed that they couldn't stay at our tiny house any longer.

We offered them a ride back to our neighborhood, but they said they'd walk. They said, "We'll be there tomorrow morning." Ginger said, "I hope so, I really do."

They were looking out the window as we drove off but I am sure they didn’t see me. I pressed my hands and face to my car window and willed them to want our help. I willed them to be there the next day. Their 22 and 19 year old heads looked 10 years younger.

Ginger and I both cried a little on the way home. We each could see the sad places we have been ourselves in those young men, but we can't fix it for them. We figure they have to want help enough to show up the next morning. The drive back to our house had never felt so long. I looked at Ginger and said, "This hurts more than the kittens." She knew what I meant.

It took us a few hours for us to admit to ourselves that they weren’t coming.

On our way back from lunch I catch myself looking to see if they are waiting in the driveway. I say to Ginger, “It’ll be like this for awhile, won’t it?” I think about how hot it is, and how going to look for them would not be the right thing for us to do. I realize how glad I am to know that. There have been times I might not have been as comfortable. I remain amazed and humbled by the outpouring of hope and concern for those two guys. I’ll wager they have no idea so many people are rooting for them - addiction and homelessness both often have an isolating effect. I have a great network of compassionate and wise people in my life. I am grateful.

I keep thinking of the kittens, of how uncertain I felt that we were making the right choice. Of how I didn't know what the right choice was. We do what we can, when we can, knowing we don’t control the outcome. There is no magic rulebook, and there are no guarantees in life, even if we do everything we can to make life turn out the way we want. These events remind me how little we do control, how pointless it is to get attached to what we think should happen. Uncertainty, embrace it. Letting go of control means opening op to pain, to loss, to things not going the way we want. That is what I am practicing, and I am sure I will be practicing this lesson for the rest of my life. It certainly doesn’t come naturally to me.

Something tells me that we aren't quite done with these guys yet - but we might be. Sometimes we sow seeds we don't get to see grow. Sometimes we expend effort and it has no impact. Sometimes little things we do without noticing make all the difference. I am glad that they got a couple pairs of shorts, t-shirts, clean socks and boxers out of the deal, and a few nights of safe cool slumber.

We'd still do the whole thing again.