Judge Not

Do you remember when you were in sixth grade? Or, I'll just say 12? I do. It was a whirl of emotions, friends, and feelings that seemed so real they were all that mattered. I hated 6th grade. Really. It was the worst. I was done with primary at church, too. Same songs, same lessons. Totally ready to move on. But still a kid. I think this is the age of being totally in between. And to top it off, the girls have discovered boys - you HAD to have a crush on somebody. And the boys had discovered soccer. They just shrugged their shoulders at the girls.

Well. This time in life has come upon my house. Samuel is going on 12 and in middle school. He loves sports, doesn't like school, and every girl on camp is in love with him. He's very nice, and a cutie - sheesh, I have a crush on the guy. He does, however, have one girl that really likes him, and he says "I like her a little bit." Whatever that means. She's in every single class of his. She comes by the house, and I admit that I give her the cold shoulder and reasons why Sam is busy. She's called him on the phone. And she seems to be everywhere we are. I've talked to Sam a lot about this. How it's great to have crushes, but you know that's all it can be at 11. And it's not okay for girls to be coming over and calling, etc. You get the picture. One other thing that has been a bit of a shock for me is how very different this girl is from us. Different religion, nationality and race. She's a muslim, black ( for lack of a better word, because she's not american) and from Trinidad Tobago. None of these are reasons not to like a person, of course. She's very nice. It's just been a shock to my system from our white bread/vanilla world of Utah.

Recently, I was caught in being judgemental about someone and their reasons for having a nanny. And I realised I better tone down my overbearing opinions. But my over opinionated ways were brought to light again last night.

At 8:45 I heard screaming at my front door. Sreaming and crying. Sam and I opened the door only to find the little girl I've just told you about, who is a very dear friend to Samuel, in complete distress. She was screaming that her dad was dead. I couldn't help but think she may be being a little dramatic. But her little seven year old brother was following behind her yelling, "It's true. He is dead. I heard mom say it." "No. He can't be!"

At this point I sent the brother home with another friend and took that young girl into the house. She cried and sobbed, while I tried to get the full story. There happened to be some men on the street that were trying to find out the whole story. And yes, it turns out, her father, who works during the week in a place about two hours from here, did die. He had been to the gym, walked out the door, vomited and fell down in cartiac arrest. Someone performed CPR, then took him to their tiny clinic, where they tried to save him again - but with no success.
That was 8:30 p.m.

This little girl, she is tiny, was in distress. I had really done nothing but try to turn her away from Samuel in the past. But tonight I took her in my arms, wrapped her in a soft quilt and held her on the couch while she cried in unbelief. Sweet Samuel sat by on the chair, saying how sorry he was, his scriptures in hand. He kept trying to comfort her with stories of faith, "Mom, remember when President Hinckley died? It was just his time to go." Probably the hardest thing for me was knowing that she was Muslim, and I couldn't tell her about how I know that they can be together again. That her father is in the arms of loved ones, that she will see him again. That Heavenly Father has a plan for each of us. That the Savior loves us and will comfort us. I did the best I could without overstepping the very harsh religious boundries placed on us in this country, never wanting to offend or try to sway.

Samuel has told me a lot about her over these past months. So I knew a lot of things about her. We talked about these things. She loves Little House on the Prarie, The Walton's, Bonanza. I asked her how she even knew these shows - she said her dad and mom had shown them to her. She LOVES Christmas with all of her heart. Again, the confusion of religion came in. (Her parents were once Hindi and Christian, but had since joined Islam) She said they loved the tradition of Christmas and were so excited for it. And now what would she do with the gift she bought her dad? She loves the movie Grease, so we had to sing a few lines. What was her favorite part? Beauty School Dropout.

See? The thing is. I really liked her. And I could really see why she and Sam are friends - and that they even have a crush on each other.

She was retrieved by 9:30, but showed up again just after 11. This time is was her, her brother and her best friend. She came to tell me thank you for comforting her, and I invited them in. She said her house was full of people and her mom couldn't stop crying and screaming. The adults at the house had told her to stay away from her mom right now, that she needs time. This left a scared little girl and her brother without much comfort. So they stayed for an hour as we talked about what might happen now. Mixed in with how much she adores my son. All of the everyday little habits he has, that only an 11 year old girl has the time to spend noticing every move that the boy she has a crush on is doing. How he wears his hat, what she got him for Christmas, how he's SO tall, how they both like the same kind of dogs, etc. A conversation that was almost hard for me to hear, about my little baby. But I knew she needed her mind off of things right now, so I didn't mind so much.

One of her biggest concerns was what to do now. Where would they send the body? Should she see it? Where will they live now? And yes, they have to leave our little camp now, without their dad as an employee, they have to go home to Trinidad. She will have a lot of changes coming her way in the next few months. She talked to her dad right before he went to the gym, "I love you daddy. Have a good night, " were the last things she said to him. I reminded her that she needs to record all her memories right now, so she doesn't lose them. And so she can keep the memories alive for her little brother, who more than likely won't remember too much of him.

Before she left I gave a journal I had laying around that wasn't in use and gave her a hug goodnight. True to her age, she hugged it, smelled it, and said, "It smells like Sam." Oh boy. Even death can't stop a one track mind. In the end, I think I realized that it is really so easy to judge. She is a really sweet girl, I really liked her. Doesn't change the fact that my son can't date, go to dances or hang out with girls. But I had labeled her and never gave her a chance. I'm thankful that instead of telling her to go home, I had some whits about me and invited her in to help comfort her. And I realized how incredibly fragile life is. Her dad was 48 years old. It was just another day in their life. And in a blink, their lives are changed forever. The sun came up today, but for them it was a very different day.