Things Will Get Better

AnnArbor.com, 22 March 2012: A man sexually assaulted a 29-year-old woman he picked up near an Ann Arbor freeway exit where she was panhandling, police said. The woman accepted a ride from the man after he informed her he could find her work, police said. Ann Arbor police went to the area of Interstate 94 and Jackson Road about 1:45 p.m. Wednesday after being notified of a woman who was holding a sign and appeared to be upset and crying, Lt. Renee Bush said. The woman told police a man had offered her some work and she got into his car, Bush said. It’s unknown where the woman is from, and the police report indicated she is living out of a hotel, Bush said. While in the car, the man touched her chest and genital area through her clothes, Bush said. The man drove the woman to his home and, while in the garage, slapped her buttocks three or four times, Bush said. The woman then ran away and returned to the exit ramp, Bush said. Bush said the woman refused medical treatment but gave a detailed enough description of the man’s truck and home that Officer Jaime Crawford was able to find the residence and identify the man. He has not been arrested, but Ann Arbor police detectives are investigating the case.

She was out there again yesterday, at the Jackson Road exit off 94 West.  I take that exit when I pick up my kids at school, and I’ve seen this woman quite a few times since she has taken up panhandling there in the last month.  Before she was assaulted, she would stand catatonic, staring at her feet, holding a cardboard sign (“Help.  Single Mother.  Need Rent Money.” A picture of her daughter at the bottom).  She gave one the impression of being a severely depressed zombie.

I saw her last Wednesday, the day she was assaulted.  And if the timeline in the news article was right, despite her near rape, she was back out begging a little over an hour later, as I saw her, a sobbing wreck, at 3 pm.  I was startled to see this previously emotionally mute mendicant looking so animated.  I wanted to ask her what was up, but the light at the exit was green, so I rolled on by. . .

She was bawling her eyes out again yesterday, her tears bombing her Jan Crouch-like make-up.  I hit a red light, so I lower my window, and as I hand her a five dollar bill and a copy of Jack Chick’s The Word Became Flesh, I ask her:

“What’s wrong?  Did you get assaulted again?”

“Nooo,” she blubbers, “a state trooper run me off earlier, and I’m afraid he’ll come back.  I’m just trying to get money for my motel.”

My wife has seen her a couple times while taking the kids to school in the morning.  The kids ask her why she doesn’t give her any money, like I do.  The old lady says the panhandleress would just spend the money on drugs.  The old lady reads a lot of articles which state the best way to help the homeless is to give money to shelters, soup kitchens, etc. 

It’s obvious this poor creature is not a drug addict. Or if she is a drug addict, she is addicted to Seroquel, Wellbutrin and/or Klonopin--made an addict by ethnic witch doctors exponentially increasing her natural depression with their hellish prescriptions.

I prefer to give money directly to bums.  Let them spend it as they may.  I’m not going to cure a bum of alcoholism by giving a couple of bucks to a shelter.  I feel good giving cash to bums, I feel my life has purpose. Writing a check to the Shelter Association leaves me cold.

Our Lord said:

Give to him that asketh thee.

Can you imagine our Lord and our God demeaning a bum by commanding:

Morally examine him that asketh thee, and if he be found worthy, then give to him.  But if a spot be found, then give thine alms to the poorhouse. . .

No, when someone asks of us, we are the ones being tested. . .

But anyway, I dream of winning the Mega Millions Lotto and giving this poor woman, whatever her state may be, a duffel bag stuffed with a hundred thousand dollars. . .

What miserable lives so many of us lead. . .

Look at this born loser in her orange hoodie, devastated by the workings of filthy lucre. . .riddled with anxiety and depression. . .ill-equipped to deal with the children of this world.  Left vulnerable by her simpleton’s gullibility. . .a gullibility exacerbated by her penury.  Her mind soft. . .disabled by the effects of generations of human sin. . she’s left psychologically defenseless. . .unable to see the wolf in sheep’s clothing. . .her gullibility exposing her to a cynical molestation.  Any sharpy promising a job can use her like a bowling ball: pick her up, finger her, throw her in the gutter.

The awful lives. . .hard. . .pitiless. . .despairing.  And there is one, standing by the road, hoping for the kindness of strangers. 

As the years go by, my wonder increases: why aren’t there more suicides?  Why do people persist? 

Satan can attack the faith of Christ (and these are they by the way side, where the word is sown; but when they have heard, Satan cometh immediately, and taketh away the word that was sown in their hearts). . .but there is a faith Satan has very little success against:

Things will get better. . .

This is the faith of the world. . .

Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. . .

Countless millions around the world get their ass kicked from sun up to sun down, and they return to life the next day for more of the same.

This poor woman at 94 and Jackson would kill herself immediately if she had no faith things will get better. . .

Mass suicide if the world lost its faith things will get better. . .

Satan molested this poor woman, and yet here she stands, still believing things will get better. . .

Only a few lose the faith of the world and kill themselves. . .

There’s more evidence Jesus rose from the dead than things will get better. . .yet the vast majority of mankind reject Christ and hope for the best. . .

Jesus said:

He that believeth on Me, the works that I do shall he do also; and greater works than these shall he do. . .

So where are the miracles today?  No miracles, no faith of Christ.  No one asks Christ.  The weary masses rise every day and ask life for things to get better--and they have faith it will.

People live hard, joyless lives. . .lives full of worry. . .they stare at empty futures.  Yet they start again every morning, praying to life to bring them something better.

People survive on self-deceit. . .

The faith of Christ died on the cross. . .the miracle generating power of His faith only experienced by a few followers for a few years after His death.  The crippled do not get up and walk, the blind do not receive their sight--this is our right by faith, but it lays buried under centuries of unbelief, compromise and the traditions of men. . .

Government handouts and scientific and technological cures are the miracles people seek from the faith of the world. . .

But the faith of the world will leave you standing by the side of the road, broken, anxious, fretting for tomorrow. . .

Christ doesn’t want His people to live like that:

O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate.

Desolate, that is the condition of the world. . .

Desolate, that is the condition of the woman in the orange hoodie. . .

Things will get better. . .

No.

Worse is ahead.  God wrote it that way.  Unless we give up the faith of the world, the misplaced faith things will get better, we will all be partakers of Babylon’s plagues:

Come out of her, My people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues. . .

The woman in the orange hoodie needs to pray and fast, and find one with the faith of Christ to pray and fast with--otherwise she dies slowly, day by day, sin by sin blotting out the light, until she's left in darkness, standing by the side of the road, catatonic or hysterical, suffering abuse waiting for the god of this world to get her a motel room.

Her faith is a marvel!  To stand by the side of the road and endure misery and molestation, and still believe through a vale of tears things will get better.

I have not found so great faith, no, not in Israel. . .

Imagine if Christ’s people had this kind of faith!  A Kingdom could be built. . .