God has a sense of humor

As I approach the door, I notice a square sticker on the window:

I'm going to hell in all the world religions.

Hmmm... I don't remember seeing that before. I chuckle aloud and wonder who she’s trying to rebuff with
that one. Mormons? Overzealous door-to-door salesmen?

I step up to the door and knock. Within seconds, a black chihuahua is bouncing, barking and snarling at the door. A moment later, a wiry woman steps over to pick up her dog and chides him for his unwelcome behavior, then opens the door for me. As I step inside, the smell of cigarettes greets me. I cautiously
move forward again, so I have room to close the door behind me.

Her name is Fern. She used to drive trucks across the country but somehow ended up at the end of the
road here in Homer. We met when she worked at the Salvation Army thrift store. I once made peanut
butter cookies and took them to her. When I saw her next, she exclaimed, ”Those were the best cookies
I’ve ever had; I need to get that recipe!” I laughed and promised to bring it by later.

My husband once helped to install flooring in her little cabin. When he came in that evening, he laughed
remembering her dogs. “One’s name is Princess, and the other one is Little Shit. She said he got in
trouble so much, he started to think that was his name, and it stuck!”

Later Ethan burned their names into wooden Christmas ornaments and gifted them to Fern when he saw
her in town.

We love Fern.

With brown hair gathered into a ponytail and streaming down her back, she flashes her smile and waves
me into the living room where empty boxes are gaping expectantly. She nods toward the window, where
several hanging plants are tangled together. “There they are, and they’re all yours!”

I smile warmly and move closer to help her take them down. “Thank you!”

We visit while disentangling the vines from one another, and through conversation, I realize she has
tended these plants for four years. Inwardly I wonder how they survived so well with all that cigarette
smoke, and then I think how ironic it would be if they died in my smoke-free home.

Fern’s Dad is unwell so she will be leaving in a few days to help him out, and she doesn’t know when
she’ll be returning. A month? Three months? Next spring? He was diagnosed with Dementia,and things
need to be taken care of, so she’s bought a ticket and is doing a thorough spring cleaning and decluttering
before leaving.

She pulls a long black toboggan to the front door and turns it so the white tow rope is ready to be pulled
to my car. We begin to load plants- an ivy starter, a magnificent jade that is over a foot and a half tall, a
spider plant with long green and white leaves, a philodendron whose trailing leaves sweep the floor- four
of those,  and then she tosses in a tray of Nasturtiums for good measure.

Later she calls me back to her house to give me food from her freezer, and asks if I would be interested
in watching her Dahlias? I say yes because I love beauty, and then I repeat her instructions to care for
them out loud. I mentally remind myself to mark these gallon pots when I get home and feel like a
sentinel who was just charged with their first assignment.

The gifts keep coming.

A large black bag of clothes.

Another bag filled with shoes, this one containing a pair of XtraTuffs, the famous Alaskan footwear of
fishermen and brides.

A box of hand and toe warmers- the kind you open, shake and tuck into your pocket to warm up when
you’re camping in Alaska. Perfect for the school Ethan is leading with all those outdoor adventures.

As each box or bag is sent over, I sort through it immediately and decide what things to keep and which
things to pass along, and I marvel at the way God provides for us. Through this outspoken woman who
claims no religion has its grip on her- this is the vessel God has poured His kindness through. So I begin
to pray for Fern. If she can soften her heart towards us to bless us so freely, then surely her heart
can soften towards God as well.