Miracle in the McDonald's Drive-Thru

Occasionally I eat lunch with my elementary kids at school. When I offhandedly made the comment that this would be a good day for me and Hyrum and Evie to come eat with someone, Micah jumped at the chance while Lily grew visibly uncomfortable.

"Mom, could you just bring me lunch from Subway but not stay and eat it with me?"

That's how I knew I'd entered the embarrassing mom stage for the fourth time. That's okay. I know she usually likes us, right?

Shocking no one, Micah placed his order for McDonald's (fries, Hi-C and a cheeseburger with no muckles--mustard and pickles), then he skipped merrily off to school. I got a few chores done, dressed the little kids and it was FINALLY time to get lunch.

Maueuvering a Suburban through certain drive-thru lanes takes some concentration, and our local McD's is one of those lanes. I managed to secure my place in line, then I did a mirror check of the kiddos--all was good.

That's when I saw them--a woman about my age and two young men, late teens--standing next to the building. The woman approached a cab parked next to me, knocked on the window and flashed some money. I thought it was strange that the cab driver didn't even register her efforts; he just kept staring ahead at the intriguing cinder block restaurant.

Rejected by the cab driver, the woman's eyes wandered in my direction. Now let it be said right here that I lived for three years in Chicago and I've encountered my share of panhandlers. Rarely do I give them any money, but on occasion I will give snacks or drinks. Judge me however you will.

This woman was somehow different. She motioned for me to roll down the window, and much to my own surprise, I complied. Her story tumbled from her lips, racing to express as much as she could before the window would be cruelly rolled back up.

"I'm not a bum, I swear. I'm escaping a very bad domestic violence situation. The cops put me up in that motel right over there last night, but I'm in a bad situation, and I just need some help."

Something in her tone of voice erased my instinct to look away and roll the window back up on my safe world inside the vehicle. Instead, I found myself saying, "What do you need?"

"Thank you." The emotion behind her voice was sincere and strong. "I have seven kids . . . " Tears welled in her face and I couldn't restrain my own story from escaping: "I have seven kids too. How can I help you?" It was as if I could see my own life playing out through her words--how my own life could have ended up if I somehow hadn't been blessed with the amazing husband and kids that God has given me.

"These are my sons," she said, with a speck of pride in her voice, "and Ramon was beaten so badly by his dad that he lost his eye. He has a prescription at Target that I need to pick up, and then if I could just get some money, I have my car and I can drive to my mom's in Winslow and be safe." Ramon removed his glasses, and I recognized his empty socket. My bestie, Karen, has one daughter, and that daughter lost her eye to cancer many years ago. This was more reality than I had expected when I had opened my window.

I opened my wallet and removed first one, then a second twenty-dollar bill, and handed them out the window. "I wish I could do something more to help you." I meant it. "My son is waiting for me, or I could do more."

Tears streamed down her face as she gratefully took the two bills and held them to her chest. Then, in an impulsive moment, she reached through the window and embraced me. I had to choke back a tear of my own as she said, "This will come back to you. God bless you. God BLESS you. Thank you. Bless you and your seven children."

And with that, it was my turn to place an order for three Happy Meals. How could my world be so different in just three minutes?

A few moments after placing the order, Ramon appeared on the passenger side of the Suburban. Admittedly, I was a little panicked, thinking, "I've been taken. And now I'm stuck here with no escape."

Instead, he motioned for the window to come down, and when it did, he quickly said, "My mother is over there in tears, so upset that she has to accept such charity. She's never been like this, and she wishes she could repay you."

A wave of surprise washed over me for the second time in that McDonald's drive-thru lane, and I muttered, "Really, it's fine. I wish I could do more."

Ramon removed his sunglasses a second time, looked me straight in the eye and said, "This will come back to you. God will not forget and He will reward you. It will come back to you, I promise."

Lunch in the school cafeteria was different that day. I had my three youngest kiddos chattering on about ketchup and chocolate milk while I was praying for this mother and her seven children, praying they could find safety and a drop of the joy that overflows in my life every single day.

Twice in one month strangers have changed my perspective and my days. This time, I hope I was the one that could make the difference.

Linking up to Jenny Matlock's Alphabe-Thursday