R. wanted the money to travel to see his
children.  He needs the money for his mother to
drive him to the state foster home.

I contacted Bon in California, and she agreed to
loan the money.  At 1130PM, Thursday, in a
parking lot by a closed burger joint, I met R. and
gave him the cash loan.  He, an honest country
young man, that lays asphalt for his income, sat
in my small car with me for a moment.  

"Here," he said as he pushed some paper
towards me, "You can have the deed to my
trailer until I pay you back."

I refused, saying that his word was enough.  
And R. was somewhat confused.  I looked at
him, and softly said, "I think this is what
Christianity is about, right?  People helping each
other to stay in the game, don't you think?"  

R. thought about what I said to him, and then he
put the deed back into his shirt pocket.

R. then opened my car door, shut it, and slipped
off to a friend's car waiting for him, to take him
back to his trailer park.

I came home, and cried, shaking in bed until the
warmth of the blankets calmed me.  I said to
God, "And who is watching out for me?  who?"  
The tears stopped, and sleep finally came.

Friday, at work, I had three writing projects to
close out.  The first one involved several
computer commands just to reach a system just
to write some paragraphs.  Michael, my co-
worker, was there.  I asked for help, and
Michael said, "Hey, I just solved it the other day
-- press here, then this command, then this...
you know, it took me more than 2 hours to get
into the system."  Because of Michael, I was in
the system in 5 minutes, and writing text.  Done
in 2 hours or so.

The second writing project was fast and then

The phone rang.  It was my son, Paul.  "Caryn,"
he said, "my phone rang last night about
midnight, and it was R.  He was so excited about
the loan that he wouldn't stop talking.  I finally
told him to shut up, so I could go to bed."  I
laughed with Paul, my first real laugh in several

I said to Paul, "Tell R. he can earn the money, I
really do need that tree stump taken out in the
front yard.  All he has to do is skil-saw it down
level with the lawn."  Paul promised to mention

I wrote the third project, and the words seemed
to fall into place.  It was nearing 6PM, Friday,
and off to home I went.

I decided to go dancing.  I just needed to

On went the black dress with the plunging front,
and long jewelry around the neck.  On went my
favorite dancing shoes,  And off to downtown
DC I went, black dress, black shoes, black
sweater, and yes, black shawl.  Tall chick with
blond highlights in black outfit... not terribly
original, but an outfit I felt confident in.

I decided to try the 18th St Lounge, which is a
bit exclusive at the velvet rope.  But... not
really.  Be female, tall, busty, and look like a
dancer, and be a bit early.  The 'rules' really
apply to the guys.  Seriously, the clubs all want
about a 2 to 1 female to male ratio, right?

In I went.  But, the dance floor at 9PM was
dead.  I stood in the corner, and moved to the
wall, in rhythm to the 'world' music being
played.  A gal from a couple came over, and
invited me to her table, and her boyfriend
bought us drinks.  We chatted for a time, and
they also really wanted to dance.  Yes!  To
dance!  So, off we girls went to the DJ, to beg
him to play more danceable music.  He refused,
citing the 'house policy' that intense music
doesn't begin until midnight.  

She and her partner decided to leave, and I
thanked them for the company and drink.  Off
they went, and then, the DJ played an Afro
beat.  I glanced about - no one was really
watching - so I chair danced right then and
there.  One of the staff watched me, and called
over his friend, and they kept looking.  

Chair dancing is just plain fun.  Keep the bottom
of the glutes on the chair, but move the feet left,
then cross legs front, then slide the feet right,
then re-cross, then stretch down racing your
hands across the thighs and calves, and then
arch your back -- just be a seductive cat with a
smile, always moving in beat to the music.

And I started to let the music dance me.  And
then, I was done in a minute or two, smiling and
laughing.  And gathered up my shawl, sweater,
and purse, and walked past the DJ and out the

I walked 2 doors down to Five.  I met the
doorman, and introduced myself.  His name was
Kenneth, and I asked, "When will your club play
dancing music?"  Kenneth, a young handsome
black man, told me about Five, "We're a
restaurant until 11PM, and then a dance house.  
Go on in."  I paid $10 to the girl at the door, and
went inside.

I sat on the side bench by a table.  It was now
not quite 11PM.  The food smelled sharp and
tangy, very Latin.  Kenneth came by, and we
chatted.  He told me to buy a drink, and just wait
a little bit.  I complied, and soon sipped a rum
and coke.  

Kenneth then told me more, about the men
already drunk and wanting hookers; about the
hookers that would soon come in; about the
couples and the dancers; about the salsa and
the music.  I told Kenneth about Bon being in
California, and that "she" is my "partner" -- I
just came to dance.  Kenneth nodded, said it
was cool, and then raced off to help with
something upstairs.

At 11PM the music started growing.  The tables
that held plates were rapidly cleared.  Within 10
minutes, the house filled with Latin, Brazilian,
Hip hop, house, and I was dancing.  Yes!  Loved

I moved and turned and twisted.  I danced with
a black older heavy-set man that could move so
well... I was almost jealous.  And then another
man with an accent.  And then a drunk that
spoke in very curt sentences.  And then a Latin
dancer that was great, and then a ball room
dancer that had to instruct me on some points
(no joke, I think I'm off to salsa class for work
on following the lead for those Latin turns).

I was laughing, clapping for my partners,
watching some of the hookers get their clients,
watching some of the couples moving so
beautifully, enjoying the laser lights on the
walls... it was a grand night.  At midnight, I
decided to go home.

I waved goodbye to Kenneth, and he came
over, and escorted me through the crowd to the
door.  Now, at this time, the door had monster
men at the front, you know, massive bouncers
that belong on semi-pro football teams or that
should try out for sumo wrestling.  Gosh, I was
small at my 5'14".

Then, it happened.

My ass!  Someone pinched my ass hard.  And
then, at the door, the same someone grabbed
by arm, and pulled me to the left.  "You!" he
said, "Come with me.  We go this way!"   It was
the drunk I danced with earlier.  It was obvious
that he thought I was one of the hookers.

I snapped my arm loose from his grip.  "Sir," I
replied, "I'm going home now."  He looked
confused, drunk and upset, and moved a step or
two further from me.  I moved even further
away from him and right next to Kenneth and
the monster men.

"Kenneth," I said, "that man thinks I'm one of
the hookers.  I'm going to have to ruin his
evening, ok?"  Kenneth said, "Sure.  Go for it."

I waved the man over.  He came and stood right
between Kenneth and I.

"Sir," I said very clearly and a bit loudly, "I am
going home.  I am not going with you.  I am a

"That's ok," he replied, "I'm a Lesbian too!"

I stood there in shock at the reply.  Kenneth
rolled his eyes at the words.  The monster men
just stared.  And then the poor man, drunk,
suddenly had something connect in his brain,
and wandered off quickly down the DC sidewalk.

Kenneth burst out laughing.  I started laughing,
and thanked him for the wonderful night.  The
monster men all stood around looking very cool
and very large.  And then off I went.  

I drove towards home.  I called Bon in California,
and told her about the evening.  We laughed
about the adventures. I took a wrong turn and
suddenly was facing two parked police cars and
a barricade -- it was an embassy entrance and
not a street.  I laughed about it over the phone,
and turned around.  The police just watched
me.  Soon, I was on my way home, joking with
Bon over the cell phone until I was at our house.

The next day, Saturday, I got up around 12
noon.  At 1PM, the door to the house swung
open.  It was Paul.  And with him was R.  

"Well," said R., "I reckon I can get that stump
out and do it right."  

Today is Sunday.  R. did not listen to me about
just cutting off the 8" diameter trunk level with
the lawn.  There is an honest crater in my front
yard.  My good grass is covered with mountains
of clay.  The stump is still in place with a 2 foot
deep hole all around it almost 3 foot wide.  
Scattered root remnants are here and there.

Oh, who is watching out for me?

How about these folks:  the Lord that helped
with my writing skills, Michael that helped with
the system commands, a couple that ensured I
was ok with a drink, several men that simply
wanted to dance for fun, Kenneth that made
sure I got out to my car ok, and R. who has
given my lawn a beating with his blessing of
honest asphalt-style gardening.

But right now, all that red-orange Virginia clay
piled on my green mowed lawn is a beautiful
'testimony' from my Lord, who orchestrates
people to remind me that He --
    the writer of scripture,
    the maker of the universe systems,
    the one that supplied wine at a wedding,
    the heavenly eyes that watched David
    dance before Him, and
    the one that is a protector of His daughters
    from the foolish --
that He is watching out for me....

Yes, ... I think I may be smiling at that pile of
clay for a few more days, don't you think?  

Thank you again for your prayers;

Much love in Christ; Caryn


(c) Copyright Caryn LeMur 2006
The Collection of Short Works,
Letters, and Poems
Who Is Watching Out For Me?
A wonderful and humorous series
of events!

I shared this email with my friends
in October 2006!

Enjoy!  Caryn


Who Is Watching
Out For Me?

Thank you everyone for all your
prayers, emails and a phone
message or two.

The week was very hard for me.  
But a 'day with the Lord is like a
thousand years', and God honored
your prayers and concern.  I think
you deserve to hear the story,
yes? <soft smile>

Thursday night was difficult, with
several bouts of depression.  
Then, at 1030PM, I was called by
my son, and asked me to loan
$100 to his friend, R.  We've
known R. for a long time, and his
wife was into coke, and R. and his
wife have currently lost their
children to the state of Maryland.  
The wife is in rehab.  The couple is
broken apart.
In Deepest Sympathy -
Poetry for those that grieve
Building Faith, Hope, & Love -
Stories and Writings
A Cup Of Cold Water -
Letters For The Thirsty
A Pause In The Forest -
Poetry for thoughtful moments