$60

CHAPTER ONE:
Last Wednesday morning, I decided that I was coming to Portland to help my best friend, Skye. Her husband was recently diagnosed with cancer, and they have a new little baby. Both are sleep deprived and well... I don't know what I can do, but I've got to be there. I'm on Best Friend Alert.


CHAPTER TWO:
On Friday morning, a woman who understands me well said, "Emily, I don't know Skye, but I want to support you going to help her out. Please let me give you $60." I cried. She cried. She understands cancer. She's been through it with her sister and her father. I took the $60.


CHAPTER THREE:
On Friday evening, I dropped the woman who understands me off in downtown Salt Lake and was about to get on the highway home. Quite suddenly I felt my car turn to the right and stop in front of a hitchhiker. "Um, what am I doing?" I don't pick up hitchhikers. Her name was Misha. She proudly showed me three tattoos on her arms, with the three names of her children. "I just put my boyfriend in jail for abuse," she said, becoming more comfortable, "and I have to earn enough money to get out of town before he gets out, or I'm dead." We drove on, telling more of our life stories to each other. As we took the exit off the highway to her destination, she confided where exactly we were going. "I'm pretty scared...I've never done this before. But he said he'd give me $30, with a $10 tip if I was good. I've got three children to feed, you know? And I need to get out of this town fast...gotta save up some money, and he said he'd pay..."


CHAPTER FOUR:
I slammed on the breaks.
"I'm taking you where?" Misha shook her head. She was a tough looking woman. Her skin was rough and her eyes sagged. She was wearing a dirty faded blue t-shirt. "I'm not a prostitute," she sank down in the seat. "And I don't want to do this. I'm pretty scared. I just ran out of options. I gotta feed my kids. And I gotta get out of town..."

Fire blazed in me. In an instant, an image of a greasy, slimy haired man in dirty blue jeans flashed across my mind. He was somewhere near here with $30 on his dresser (and his $10 tip). He was waiting for this woman, this desperate mother sinking into the seat of my car.

"Misha, if I give you $40, can I turn the car around?" My eyes flamed. I was furious. At what, I didn't know. At poverty? At forced prostitution? At single mothers with three children who's boyfriends beat them and strike them more with fear than with bats?

"Yes, but..."

My tires screeched. I ran a red light.


CHAPTER FIVE:
"YAHOOOOOOO!!!!!" I yelled out the window. Misha laughed, dazed. She didn't know what to make of me. I went 80 mph on the highway, the wind blowing violently through the car. I finally slowed down, and calmed down, and we rolled up the windows. But I was still full of fire.

"Misha, there are a lot of sick jerks out there, aren't there?" This seemed to spark something in her, and I guess it was her time to yell. So she did. "YES THERE ARE!" She half laughed, half cried. "Yes, there are," she said again, this time very quietly, as if remembering something. I continued,

"We sisters have to stick together," I shook my head and hit the steering wheel, feeling every word I was saying with deep vehemence. "I got your back, girl. I'm your sister, and today you aren't going near that man. Not from my car. Maybe another day, but not today." Misha clapped her hands together and laughed with wet eyes.

"I was standing there hitchhiking," she sighed, looking relaxed, "and I was praying. Dear God, I said, please don't make me do this. Please let there be another way than this. And then you show up."

I felt stunned to hear her prayer. I guess even if I don't, God picks up hitchhikers with my car.


CHAPTER SIX
I didn't have $40 in cash, so I went to the atm with Misha. She was embarrassed. "I don't feel right asking you for money. I'm not a beggar. I'm probably going to get some temp work in a few days. Can I send this back to you?"
"Misha, you aren't asking me for money. You need to remember that. You never once asked for this. I have to give this to you..." and as I said it, I knew how true it was. I looked at the atm screen. $20, $40, or $60 fast cash. The $60 bar seemed to light up like blinking neon. I pushed the screen, and I knew what had happened.

CHAPTER SEVEN
We got back in the car to drive her home. "Misha," I said slowly, handing her the cash, "I think you'll find some good ways to get enough money. God's got your back on this one...

"60 dollars?!" She counted the money again and resisted it. "But you said $40. How...?"
"I never pick up hitchhikers," I interrupted her, "but I picked up you. And I haven't worked for a year. But today I'm giving $60 to you. A woman who understands me gave me $60 just this morning. I know without a doubt that this money is for you. So you need to take it."

She did, and got out of the car, smiling. "I'm going to tell my kids that there are nice people out there."

CHAPTER EIGHT
My readers who believe I'm telling this story to brag don't know me at all. The readers who do know me or want to know me will understand that I'm on year one of a 10 year plan for my life, which in part consists of learning how to be a light-guided philanthropist. The fact that I could have given her $40 and didn't is quite significant to me and my plan. I knew God had been in the back seat of my car the whole time, especially on the ride home when I heard Him lean to me and say, "Yes."

CHAPTER NINE
I'm coming to Portland on Wednesday. I thank the woman who understands me for the $60. I know you're reading this, and I know you aren't upset that the $60 isn't going toward my trip to Skye. You are a woman who understands me.

CHAPTER TEN
So where am I going to get another $60? Well, it already happened, that night. And it's just another ten chapter story.