Backstory: Why You Should Love, Not Judge

He wanted me to help him pick out a dress. It wasn't for his wife or girlfriend or daughter. It was for him. "Are you okay with that?" he asked quietly. "I'm okay to help you," I replied. "That's what I'm here for."

So, we chatted. Waist size. What's the occasion? Do you have a favorite color? We smiled. I made a few jokes. I talked about what I hate about shopping for a dress. He talked about what he hated when shopping for a dress. Finally, he took two selections into the fitting room. I took countless questions into the prayer room of my mind.

What happens in a man's life that he finds himself shopping for a dress?
God, what do you want me to do? to say?
How can I help?
Please, God. Use me.
Help me show Him that you love him by showing him love.
How do I do that?
Oh, dear Jesus. Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. 
Help me.

He came out of the fitting room.
"Do you have a winner?" I asked.
"No. They don't work."
"Is there something else I can help you look for? We have shorts in your size?" I offered.
"What about a shirt?" he asked.
So we chatted while we browsed the rack of men's shirts. Nothing we had in his size suited his taste. We talked about tastes. What are you looking for in a t-shirt? Comfort, I said. Bold colors, he said. A good fit, I said. He agreed.

"Well, nothing for me today. Thanks for helping me," he said.
"What's your name?"
"B****."
"It was nice to meet you. I'm Liz. If you're on Facebook--"
"Naw, I don't do Facebook. People don't need to know that I woke up each day, you know. Nobody would care if I died, so why bother."
My heart broke.
"That's not true. I'd care if you died."
Tears formed in his eyes. "No you wouldn't."
I looked right back at him, feeling my own tears. "Yes, I would."
He looked down.
"Your parents, they're glad you woke up today."
"No, they're dead."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have any siblings?"
"Yes and no. They don't have anything to do with me. They took my mom from me, wouldn't let me around her when she got sick, wouldn't let me come to the funeral, they don't want me in their lives. I don't have anybody who cares."
"I care about you, B. Will you come back to the store some time?"
"No. I'm just in the area today. I live two hours from here."
"Well, I'm glad you came here today. I hope I get to see you again. I will be very sad if something happened to you. Someone does care. It's me."
He was crying. "Thanks."

He left. I wanted to say, "I love you," but I thought that might creep him out. But I know he felt it. I know he saw it. In my eyes, in my smile, in my authenticity. And that was all. That was all I was called upon to do. I don't know if he realized it, but I feel that God took B two hours away from home so he could meet someone today who cared that he was alive.

I prayed for B. Last night and this morning. And I will continue to call out his name before God.

I hope I see him again. I know that the next time, I will tell him I love him, even if he feels creeped out at first. He'll get over it. And the next time he feels abandoned, unloved, lost, and confused, he can remember that there is a little woman in the world named Liz who didn't preach him a sermon about his dress, who didn't call him out of his name, and who didn't give him physical signs and facial expressions of disgust and repulsion. She just cared. Cared that he was hurting. Cared that he missed his parents. That he never got to say good-bye to his mom. That his siblings don't acknowledge him. She cared that she had met another human being who was hurting, and she showed him some love.

Go, and do thou likewise.

*Pray for B with me.