My mom’s best friend recently passed away after an extended illness. She was a fiesty southern lady and she and my mother were as close as sisters. Her service was in her home town, about a three-hour drive from where we live. Being the good daughter I am, I happily volunteered to drive my parents down for the service. Of course my primary reason for offering to drive was to to offer support to my mom and pay my respects to her friend. But, I admit, the other reason I offered was because my dad’s driving scares me to death. If I offered to drive, I knew they would stand a better chance of arriving alive for the service.

Of course like every other human on a trip to an unknown destination, we entered the address into the trusty GPS. Unbeknownst to me, the GPS in my father’s Subaru was set to the fastest route, not the most direct. It wouldn’t seem like that particular setting would make much difference but in rural areas, it does. The fastest route turned out to be a never-ending course, down pig trails and backwoods hills and hollers across the east-central portion of Mississippi.  We passed every corn field, cotton field, and soybean field along the way. We watched creeks meander from one side of the road to the other. We made hairpin turns that took us deeper into the isolated boondocks that make up much of the state. There was no doubt, we took a much longer route than necessary, but we had a blast along the way, enjoying the views and sharing laughs. It was a nice time together despite the circumstances.

When we finally got to the church we found the parking lot full of cars with people milling about. I was happy to see the turnout since many of the attendees were elderly and I was unsure they would be up for the long drive. 

 The three of us entered the building and made our way to our seats in the sanctuary. The church was beautiful. The front was decorated with quilts my mother’s friend made. She was a talented quilter, and many people at the gathering shared how her quilts had been gifts during tough times in their lives.

The service was lovely. Everyone who spoke of her gave examples of how she was a blessing to others. They talked about how she used her God-given gifts to comfort and encourage. She had a reputation as a prayer warrior and gladly helped families in her community.  Her grandchildren talked about how she was their rock during hard times and how they wouldn’t have made it without her. 

After the service wrapped up, we decided to skip the meal and make our way home vowing to take a more direct route. On the way out to the car, we ran into another of my mom’s friends. She was on the team that set everything up before the funeral and was expected to stick around to help with clean up afterwards. Since we were going home, she asked if we minded taking her passenger home. Apparently, she didn’t want to stay for the meal either.

Ordinarily, we wouldn’t mind helping someone even though it was inconvenient. But my mom, dad, and I had so much fun on the drive down, none of us wanted a proverbial third wheel spoiling the fun. But what could we do? We couldn’t really say no. We had no good excuse to offer. We exchanged glances and finally relented. 

In our defense, the passenger had a notorious reputation. She was known to be tough to handle; to put it bluntly, she was annoying and demanding. I dreaded spending three hours with her on the way back.  Her sour personality was bound to put a damper on the whole experience. Plus, since we didn’t know her well, the ride home would inevitably be uncomfortable. We would be forced to make conversation. It sounded exhausting. 

Nevertheless, we soldiered on. I grabbed her walker and began the difficult task of putting it in the back cargo area. We moved things around to make room for her on the back seat. At one point, I caught her snarling gaze in the side mirror that indicated she wasn’t any more excited about the trip than we were. It was obvious she didn’t like the proposed seating arrangements and was unhappy about how I manhandled her walker. She seemed quite attached to it. When her glance caught mine, I shot her a slight snarl in reply,  as I attempted, a third time, to close the back hatch so we could get the trip over with. 

We were just about to set out on the dreaded journey when yet another lady my mom knew walked up to the driver’s side. She went on to tell us she hadn’t planned to stay for the meal either and graciously volunteered to give our grumpy passenger a ride. Hallelujah!

I snatched the walker out of the back as fast as I could.. I wasn’t giving anyone time to change their mind. To my surprise, our elderly passenger had her purse thrown over her shoulder and was heading to the other car without a thought to her beloved walker. I had not problem shoving the walker into trunk of the waiting car. I slammed the trunk lid, hard. We said our obligatory goodbyes and jumped in trusty Forrester as fast as we could. We practically peeled out of the parking lot on two wheels without as much as a backward glance.

The drive home was just as enjoyable as the drive down. We talked and laughed. We chatted about the service and the nice things people mentioned about my mom’s friend. Before we knew it we were back in town in record time. 

As we made our way onto the main road headed to my house, the truck in front of us slowed almost to a halt and I followed followed suit. When we got closer, we discovered the reason for the hold-up. We saw a small dog, a mix between a Shih Tzu and a Maltese, standing squarely in the middle of the road. I couldn’t imagine how a little lap dog ended up in the middle of a busy street.  He seemed lost, unsure of how to get himself to safety. He just wandered back and forth. Then, the truck in front of me came to a complete stop  and turned on their emergency flashers. A young couple jumped out.  I jumped out as soon as I realized what they were trying to do. As I stepped out, the couple stared at me as if I were crazy. I was a little overdressed for dog wranging, in my funeral dress. The three of us inched closer to the dog, clapping hands and calling him. When we got closer, it became clear that he was not well. He was filthy, covered in fleas, and mangy. He couldn’t see and I am fairly certain he was deaf too. He kept wandering back into the road no matter how much we coaxed him to safety. It was heartbreaking. 

Surprisingly, while all of this was going on vehicles kept zooming past our stopped vehicles without concern.  Drivers maneuvered around us casting angry looks from their windows. For the sake of safety, I took it upon myself to direct traffic. After some time, we successfully guided the dog to the curb and discussed our next steps.

It was clear the dog needed medical help. We knew we had to get him out of the street and to a vet. Because we didn’t know the dog and he was obviously scared we thought it best not to approach him and try to lift him with bare hands. We needed something to wrap him in. Almost as if on cue, a man stopped, and lowered the window to ask what was going on. I quickly explained and asked if he might have a towel so we could lift the dog and get him in the back of the couple’s truck. I couldn’t believe it but he reached into the back seat and handed me an old T-shirt. We wrapped the poor animal in the shirt and hoisted him into the back. The young woman offered to sit in the truck bed with the dog as they took him home because the director of the local Humane Society was their next door neighbor. They felt sure she would know what to do for the dog. They were truly the real heroes of the day. We quickly said our goodbyes and they left. I got back in my dad’s SUV and headed home. 

After the ordeal was over and I had a chance to think about it, I couldnt help but cry. I cried for the dog because I couldn’t imagine how a little old lap dog ended up in such horrible shape. I cried because he was blind and helpless and so few people stopped to help. I cried because I knew the dog’s health issues were severe and the animal would likely have to be put down. But mostly, I cried because I felt ashamed. Ashamed because of the times I walked on by or didn’t stop to help another. I felt ashamed because of the times, I didn’t want to get my hands dirty. 

The poor lost dog made me think of people who are blind and wandering. People who have been dropped off and forgotten. People who just want someone to reach out and help. What if more of us were willing to stop and help others in need? What if we were willing to get our hands dirty?

I thought about my mom’s friend who passed away. The words spoken at her funeral showed that she knew how to get her hands dirty. She reached out to others in times of need and difficulty no matter the circumstance. She got in there and willingly walked through other people’s pain.  She didn’t judge their circumstances but instead offered strength, support, and grace. She took care of people. 

As I contemplated the whole ordeal, I couldn’t figure out why it was so easy for me to help the dog but not the woman at the funeral. Why had I been so willing to get my hands dirty for an animal but not a fellow human being in need of a ride home? The dog was visibly dirty and she wasn’t. She was clean and dressed in her finest. 

I gave it some thought and it finally occurred to me. The dog’s dirt was only superficial and that made it easy to wash off. A quick shower and a trip to the dry cleaner washed his dirt away. 

People are different; their dirt goes beyond the surface sometimes running deep and remaining concealed. When you immerse yourself in the struggles of those who are hurting their pain seeps deep into us, affecting our hearts and souls in ways that are hard to shake off. This kind of dirt can transform us, sometimes for the better, but it can also bring its own kind of hurt.

The reality is, life can be messy. While it’s easy to feel sympathy for others, true compassion goes beyond mere emotions; it calls for us to take action. This often involves confronting difficult, uncomfortable, and even painful circumstances. We might find ourselves doing things we’d rather avoid, enduring awkward silences, assisting those who struggle, or pausing to help someone in distress. What does it say about us if we don’t step up? If we only express sympathy without taking meaningful steps, what kind of world are we building? 

A flawlessly clean and tidy world doesn’t exist. The dirty things in life prompt us to act.  After the whole thing, I vowed to to look  for more opportunities to get my hands dirty now and then. I am learning that  by embracing compassion, we can improve the world together, tackling each dirty messy situation as it comes.