Lessons in Loving

  The score was close but we were cold in the 47 degree October evening air.  Even though it was a playoff game, Mike conceded the fact that it was frigid and Claire needed to get to bed.  So we stuck around to cheer on the Plymouth-Canton Marching Band at halftime and then we packed it in and made for the exit of the football stadium.  I didn't want to go down the steep steps of the bleachers while carrying Claire, so we took the ramp.  That's when I saw her.
  A small figure sitting Indian-style, hunched over, looking like she was trying to keep warm in her green too-large baseball jacket that wasn't even snapped up.  She was sitting on the cold bare ground in the bright light of a generator-powered flood lamp set, aimed at keeping riff-raff out from under the oversized bleachers.  She was out of the way and removed from all of the excitement of the students and game.  She looked so sad sitting there by herself.
  As we walked toward the exit, I pointed her out to Mike and asked if he thought I should go check on her. He said if I wanted to, I should.  I debated as I continued to walk, then stopped.  I couldn't let it go.  I turned around with Claire buried in a blanket in my arms and made my way over to her.
  Up close, I could see through her blond hair that there were a few tears coming down her cheeks.  I could also see that she was probably a girl with some special needs.
  I bent over and touched her arm.
  "Are you okay, sweetheart?"
  "Yes," she answered meekly.
  "Are you cold?"
  "Yes."
  "Would you like a hot chocolate?"
  "Yes."
  I motioned Mike over and asked him to go purchase a hot chocolate from the concessions.  I asked the girl if I could sit down beside her while we waited and she said yes.  So Claire and I plopped down on the ground, lit up by the lights like we were on center stage.  Yet no one had approached her besides me.  Two girls, probably freshmen or sophomores, were hanging out too close to the generator, and I detected the smell of exhaust - not a good place to be breathing a lot.
  "What's your name?"
  "Rachel."
  "Hi Rachel.  I'm Erin and this is Claire.  Do you go to school here?"
  "Yes.  At Plymouth."
  "What grade are you in?"
  "I'm a junior," she said, matter-of-factly.  "Next year, I get to be a senior!"  A smile came over her face.
  I continued to ask her what classes she is in, which is her favorite ("All of them!"), and discovered that her dad had dropped her off, but that she doesn't really like watching the game.  This was her second game of the year.  She came to Homecoming, too.
  Two different girls came up to us while we were chatting and waiting, and asked if Rachel was okay.  I think they thought she might be ill or hurt.  I give them credit for approaching, but probably only because I was sitting with Rachel.  I don't think they knew her - Rachel certainly didn't act like she knew them.  I told the girls that she was fine, though, and thanked them for checking.
  Mike returned with the steaming cocoa and Rachel eagerly and gratefully took it in her un-gloved hands, carefully sipping it so as not to burn herself.  Well, that was done.  Cocoa delivered.  But I felt like I couldn't leave her yet.  I just had this feeling like she needed something.
  "Rachel, would you like to go sit in the bleachers and watch some of the football game with us?" I asked.
  "Yes!" she replied.
  I figured she probably didn't like a lot of loud noises or crowds (which she confirmed to me), so I lead our little party down to the far end of the bleachers, which had been cleared when the marching band finished their duties at halftime.  We took a seat on the first bench of the bleachers (Claire loved running up and down the walkway, collecting leaves and throwing them!) and watched the 3rd quarter of the football, chatting all the while.
  Rachel loves to sing.  And she plays multiple instruments.  She dreams of acting ("I'm really good at it!") and maybe being a supermodel.  She's the youngest of 7 kids, and must be much younger because she has a bunch of nieces and nephews, from preschool-age into their twenties.  Her dad played football at Michigan State (it was his coat she was wearing).  Her brother played football at Plymouth.  She was on the cheerleading squad, but she dropped out because it was too hard for her.  But she can do the splits in the air.  She knew the guy working security on the south end of the field - Mr. Wallace, a para-pro.
  I loved watching this young woman open up like a beautiful flower.  By the end of the 3rd quarter, she was smiling non-stop.  I knew, though, that we had to get Claire to bed - it was already an hour past her bedtime.  Plus, she was turning into a human popsicle.  So I told Rachel we had to be leaving and that I was sorry to leave her there to watch the rest of the game, but she was chipper and happily said her goodbyes.  Claire and Rachel had a sweet goodbye between them, even.  I wished her all the best this year and next, told her I hoped to see again some time, and reminded her that she can be and do whatever she dreams and to go after those dreams.
  As we left the field, I had such a warm feeling inside.  The kind that you get when you know that you helped someone out, but feel like you benefited even more.  I feel so privileged to have met Rachel.  She really is a special girl with a great heart.
  I admit that I started to worry as we prepared for bed that Rachel's parents wouldn't be happy with her for accepting a drink from strangers.  I actually wrote an email to one of the counselors at Rachel's school, explaining our encounter.  I'm sure that she has been cautioned to be wary of people who may take advantage of her, and I wanted the school (and her parents if they tell them) to know that we meant well and what a nice time we had with Rachel.
  I know that as Claire grows up, she will encounter people like Rachel.  It is my hope and prayer that she will have a heart for them; that she will embrace those who are on the margins and show them the love that was gifted to us through Christ.  It's so easy to just pass by and think, "oh, they'll be fine," when just the opposite might be the case.  You never know when you could be just what that person needs - a kind voice, a cup of cocoa, a friend.  It was a great lesson in loving.