One evening, I spent the evening at a laundromat with a homeless friend whose clothes required extra detergent. She carries most of them in a large tote, so we washed every piece of clothing she owed. Once I dropped the quarters inside and poured powdered soap into the washer, I warned the couple sitting by the wall with their tiny in fant that if suds seeped from the washer, it was my fault. I didn’t measure the amount needed and guessed how much to pour.
I engaged in further talks with this couple, who were new to the area and searching for work. So, we’d pray about their future, and I held their little boy, and he gazed into my eyes with the deepest brown eyes.
The clothes were clean, and I moved to the dryer as this laundromat used tokens. And yes, I would get my token stuck in the dryer button thingy, and a woman would rescue me, helping me jiggle the token free.
Another couple would come into the laundromat with their grown son and nine-year-old daughter. They once stayed at the Salvation Army but now had a home, and their little girl ran to hug me. She giggled and held her two dolls. She said both dolls were adopted and needed her, and she then told me of the kitten her daddy saved, of how the furry meow of a lost animal is now her pet.
I ran next door to the store and ran into a friend I’d met at Church under the Bridge long ago, chasing him down an aisle. He was doing great, and his joy was contagious. His smile was perfect too. I bought myself and my friend bottled water and purchased him one too.
Then after a million hours of watching the slowest dryers twirl the clothes, my friend and I folded her belongings.
So back at my friend’s camp, a couple walked up in the shadow of the night. I felt my heart race, worried about who they were and their intent. They marched our way, and I wondered if I should call for help.
And then, like riding the warm night of a calm breeze, I felt caught in the fluff cycle of life, and then I heard my name. It’s as if the token of fear stuck in my throat moved into the right slot, and I recognized the voices.
Yes, the greeting came from two friends, and I’d lost contact with them over the past couple of years. They shared hopes and dreams with me and were thrilled to see my little SUV under the street light on their stroll.
The man asked, “So you know about my going to jail?”
“Yes, I know.” “And you’re still my friend?”
“Of course, I’m your friend. Sometimes, we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, but remember, God is with you. Trust Him. Serve Him in your walk. Start over.”
My friend hugged me, as did his wife, and we prayed as if we were unicycle riders who knew their balance in life comes from God. It’s like the ride we take along the way requires the music from Christ to sing the correct lyrics, to walk the right path.
So, that night, a few hours included many heart connections and conversations about the Lord. And to think, I nearly stayed home after getting off work because I was tired.
Goodness, I would have missed these encounters! It was like having church at the laundromat, at the store, and in the dark on the side of the road—all within three hours! And it was glorious!
The clothes were clean for my friend. And others were smiling. And my heart was full. But I did have to go back to the laundromat; apparently, I folded an entire load of clothes from the wrong dryer. I’d grabbed the wrong clothes!
Upon my drive back to the laundromat, I found the lady who had thought about calling the police. But someone told her of my chaotic behavior, and she’d waited to see if I might return. So yay! No jail for me. And she, too, eventually smiled. But it took a few minutes for her to warm up to me! But never fear. We were standing by the hottest dryers in town!
