A Little Persistent

By Pam Kumpe

I admit it. I followed her.

It started with an innocent glance from my car window when I saw her sitting in the shade of a tree, almost hidden by low branches. The day was warm.

I rolled down my window and called, “Would you like a Gatorade?”

She waved me off, grabbed her backpack, and walked the opposite way.

That should have been the end of it. But apparently, I am not always a “that should be the end of it” kind of person.

At the corner of the street, I turned left, then left again, then one more left until I ended up where she crossed. She waved me off again.

I parked my car anyway, jumped out, and held up the bottle. “It’s only going to get hotter. I’d love to share this with you.”

She glanced over her shoulder. “I’m fine. I don’t need a thing.”

I nodded, put the drink back in my seat, and drove on.

But the next street sent me in her direction as she’d apparently turned that way, and so did I. I drove by again, parked two blocks away, and hurried to a small concrete wall in her path.

I placed three scripture cards beside three bottles of Gatorade. Blue, orange, and green. That way, she could choose without me hovering. And if she didn’t take one, maybe someone else would.

I returned to my car and waited where she couldn’t see me. Maybe. But I could see the Gatorade.

A few minutes later, she marched up to the drinks, glancing around. She hesitated. Sat next to them. Still watching.

She touched a scripture card, slipped it into her pocket, then lingered over the drinks. Blue? Orange? Green? Maybe that’s what she was asking herself. 

Finally, she chose green. Stood. And stepped into the shade, twisted off the cap, and took a drink.

I sat there smiling like I had witnessed a small miracle. Delivery made. A verse in her pocket. Her body becoming hydrated. 

Then two men came from the other direction. The woman pointed back toward the wall, and they rushed over to the other bottles. They even took the scripture cards, holding them for what seemed like eternity, reading them. 

Three drinks. Three people. Three times to bless someone on a hot day.

A few blocks later, I met a man who looked downcast. Sweat poured down his face.

“You seem sad today,” I said.

“Things aren’t looking good. It’s hard.”

I handed him two Gatorades. “Let’s get you in the shade. I’ll pray for you, and we can talk.”

So we did.

Later, as I started to leave, the woman from earlier came up to me again. She saw me and hurried the other way. But halfway across the street, she stopped and turned back.

“Thank you for the Gatorade,” she said. “You are a little persistent, aren’t you?”

“I can be. I hoped you didn’t think I was stalking you.”

This time, she almost smiled- well, a little grin did slip in.

The man near me said, “You can’t be stalking people. You know how scary you are.”

“I wasn’t stalking her. I was following her.”

“And how is that different?”

“I’m not sure. But at least she’s not thirsty now.”

Sometimes kindness comes with twists, turns, stalled situations, and a woman who keeps waving you away. But love does not give up at the first wave. Or the first time someone shoos you off.

Jesus didn’t give up on us. He pursued the lonely, weary, overlooked, and the ones who said they didn’t need a thing. 

And in my case, maybe the Lord used a green Gatorade and a scripture card to remind one woman she was seen.

Not cornered. Not pressured. Just seen.

That almost-smile made every turn worthwhile. Now, if I can only see her again, learn her name, and maybe, one day, become her friend.