God Loves Single Women

Sit back, relax and have a cup of hot cocoa or something. It's Story Time With Adoro! 

I lived in Minneapolis when I celebrated my 24th or 25th Birthday. Maybe it was my 26th? Who knows?

In any case, I got together that evening with some friends who picked me up at my house in south Minneapolis and we went out to dinner at the Green Mill on Hennepin Avenue in Uptown. (For those not local, that's an area just "south" of Downtown Minneapolis, filled with restarants and nightclubs and to-die-for apartments and homes of high value but no parking. I'm sure it's the Greenwich Village of the Midwest.)

We were a small group, planning to meet a few other people later on that evening at a club downtown. Our plan was to go to South Beach (which would be host to a deadly shooting a few weeks later), and then meet another friend at The Quest nightclub a block or so away sometime around midnight.

As it turned out, we had to split up because a few people couldn't stay out the whole night, and one friend had to leave around midnight. So my friend who had agreed to meet her boyfriend at The Quest left with our other friend, Heidi, and I walked my friend Marie to her car in the parking garage. Then I headed to Quest and stood in line, hoping to get ID'd in time to get my free birthday drink.

I'm not sure if it's true anymore, but at the time, Quest was primarily a destination for those of African-American descent. It was a very popular and very cool place, they played great music with the unfortunate side effect (as in the case of several Downtown Minneapolis clubs) of playing host to the occasional murder.

We who lived there were used to the street warfare and realized that if we never went out for fear of getting shot, well, we'd never go out. Ever.

Seriously, part of a great night on the town meant risking getting caught up in the warzone antics of a few sociopathic malcontents who like to make city living miserable for their targets and anyone standing anywhere in their vicinity.

So there I was, alone, in line at the Quest. Just to set the scene, I was wearing a short little black skirt and a form-fitting top, both of which revealed my figure and my great-looking legs. (* sigh * I miss them) While I've never been a great beauty, I was quite easy on the eyes at the time, and fit in quite nicely at this dark, bass-thumping nightclub.

Indeed, I came in just in time to get a drink...but there were no birthday deals, so I paid to enter the club and for a rail drink. A screwdriver or rum and coke, I think. It doesn't really matter.

I wandered through the crowds, searching out my friends, who were supposed to be there. I coudn't find them, and was beginning to panic. Was I blind? Where were they?

I don't know why, but I've always had a fear of being left alone someplace, or being "stood up" somewhere. That night, that fear became somewhat of a reality. Although I knew that my friends would not intentionally  abandon me someplace like the Quest, of ALL places! What happened?

At some point, I met a guy who was either there with friends and got bored, or arrived there by himself in hopes of finding some sort of entertainment. He approached me as I was standing alone and clearly searching the crowd, and we struck up a conversation. This man was a complete gentleman, and in fact, helped me search the club for my friends. And no, he wasn't white. I'm pretty sure I was the ONLY white chick in the entire place at the time, which is part of what concerned me with finding my friends...they were white, too. They should have stood out!

This gentleman in his kindness basically became my escort (the good kind!) and talked me into standing still for awhile, with the thought that my friends might ALSO be looking for me. He logically pointed out that if we were all roaming on the opposite sides of the club, we might find each other if one of us takes time to stand still. I saw his logic so stood talking with him for a bit, hoping one of my friends might happen past, at which time I also planned to invite this kindly stranger into our own mix.

When the man left for a moment to either head to the bar for a water or coke or something, I remained where I was, and some gangsta-type guy walked up to me and said in a low voice, "The Brotha wants to talk to you."

"What?"

He wouldn't look at me. He was just a messenger. "The Brotha wants to talk to ya." And he signaled with his doo-rag clad head that I should follow him. 

Whatever

Now, mind you, I was still in a bit of a panic, I'd had a few drinks (although not that many that evening, even though it was my birthday), and in my distracted illogic, I had some hope that this guy was really an emissary of my friends. Never mind that my friends would not send a stranger to bring me to them.

Just the same, I went into a darkened corner with the guy, and there I was brought to the "throne" of another guy who was clearly in charge of the bunch. No one was looking at me. The "Brotha" had his hand partially covering his head in quite the kingly manner, and as I approached, he addressed not me, but his henchman who had brought me to him. He did not speak, just waved his hand in a "shoo-ing" motion.

I was largely ignoring him, instead, looking for my friends. I didn't know who this Loser was, but realized as I was there that I was in the besotted lair of some kind of local gang. The Crips? The Bloods? The Rolling 30's? Who?

Who cares?

In any case, the henchman pawn that led me to his king basically told me I was dismissed, (to give him credit, he didn't seem real thrilled with his role and actually had a sense of sympathy about him,albeit misplaced) and because I didn't really give a rat's ass anyway, I walked away. It wasn't as though they were holding my friends hostage. I wondered how many of those guys were packing heat, though, and how they'd gotten through the metal detectors.

Having left unscathed the pathetic Lair of the Gangsta King, I was happy to find my "savior" waiting for me. 

I told him what had happened, and he just shook his head. It was around that point that I realized I'd just been a sow on display and had been "rejected". And you know...I've never forgotten it. I've come to realize that The Quest was that  particular Gangsta Loser's own personal sow arena.That horseapple in a do-rag was sending his gangsta pawns out to find fresh meat for his approval, and if they didn't meet his image, in other words, if he didn't want to "tap that" then they would be dismissed.

Hi, I'm a cow. Like every other woman in the club that night, according to that jerk. Better a living cow than a horseapple, that's what I always say. 

How I wished I had hooves so as to trample such carrion into the manure they choose to imitate.

But really, never mind. That's an old story that will never die in any age.  The nice guy who befriended me and I both realized my friends weren't there, and so he actually gave me a dime to complete the fee for the payphone so I could call my friend. She didn't have a cell so I called her home number, hoping she'd check messages. She answered the phone!

Apparently, they had gone to Quest, the boyfriend of our other friend wasn't there so they returned to South Beach to pick us up...but Marie and I had already gone!. So she went home, not knowing what else to do since I didn't have a cell and it was plausible that I had gone with my other friend. Well, when I called she agreed to come back and get me, being I was stranded and all, so my new friend and I walked out and stood on the corner, waiting. It was a warm and pleasant June evening, and I was happy this guy really seemed to have no interest in hitting on me. He was legitimately a nice guy.

(How RARE!)

I learned during our sidewalk conversings that he was an Entymologist who had, until recently, lived in Chicago. He told me he was concerned with what was happening at the Quest, because, just after we'd walked out the door, there was a fight and a massive police response. Traffic downtown was gridlock. He said that clubs that catered to the black population in Chicago had been shut down because of crime, and he didn't want to see the same kind of segregation in Minneapolis as that which exists in Chicago. He liked the fact that a woman such as myself, and others of my friends (which I'd told him were also white or varying races) could come and go in such clubs, and that the main clientele of the Quest would come and go in the other Downtown nightclubs as well.

Among my friends, for our part, we thought nothing of it; although there remains a certain amount of segregation in every big city, in my observation, Minneapolis doesn't even come close to what is experienced in Chicago. I regularly hung out with a mixed crowd, and was comfortable in doing so. Perhaps the greatest evidence of this was my presence that night at The Quest; even though I never saw another white face, no one paid any mind to me or I to them. No one cared. Neither of us was "threatening" to another.

So it was that my new friend waited with me until Heidi pulled up in her Jetta. I had his phone number, but never called afterward because I "wasn't the kind of girl to meet guys at the bar". Yet, I have to say, I've never forgotten him, an oasis in a desert of immorality. A gentleman among creeps.

To this day, I believe that God sent this man to me to protect me, to help me get out of a bad spot, and to give me companionship in a place where a woman alone would have been in a very dangerous position.

The Quest is still in existence, and has hosted groups such as the bluegrass-influence group, Nickel Creek (one of my favorites). But I don't know what it's like now on an average Friday or Saturday night. I think, other than attending a concert, that was the last time I visited The Quest.

God looks out for Single women, I am absolutely convinced of that. 

No, I don't think the guy who befrended me was an angel, but he continues to serve as a reminder to me that God often uses us all to provide protection and comfort for strangers, and we should follow that call.

So I ask you to pray for the man who helped me that evening...may God bless and keep him, and raise up more men like him! He was the very image (spiritually) of St. Joseph. I wish I could meet him again, if only to thank him for his simple assistance to a young woman out of her element and without the protection of her friends.

I continue to believe he was motivated out of true good will, recognizing a woman alone, out of place, and out of her element. I've always felt bad about not calling him back, but at the time I was not looking for a boyfriend, I felt he was too old for me, and, well, I had met him at a bar (never mind we were both sober).

I trust he is likely now happily married and watching out for his own little girls. I hope he didn't feel too slighted by not hearing from me (for some reason I don't hear the earthquake of a breaking heart), but just the same, I remember him well, whoever he was, and hope that all mothers and fathers raise such good sons. He did their parents proud and I will forever be grateful.

My only regret is that he is not a friend of mine today.

Ladies, God takes special care of single women and often sends help even when we don't know we need it.

Gentleman, please look upon this example of how God uses men to protect His beloved.

It isn't rocket science; holiness is pure common sense, willing the good of the other and always living in the light of knowing we find our ends in God alone.

Minneapolis Bridge Collapse

I went to work today, wondering if any of my co-workers were on the bridge. Wondering about my Manager, but thinking he took a different route home.

As it turned out, he was nearly one of the souls on the bridge; he revealed this morning that he is still in shock. Last night, he was on I-35 W, which, north of the bridge, has been under construction for some time. The bridge itself, which is 8 lanes wide, was down to 1 lane on each side. (One week ago, when I was last on this bridge, it was 2 lanes on each side). So as you can imagine, with a major highway, the main thoroughfare through the Minneapolis downtown area, so crippled, well, traffic was HORRENDOUS, and was literally bumper to bumper for miles, and traffic was just crawling.

There are a few exits approaching the bridge, the last one being the 4th St/University exit, coming from the North. My manager was fed up with traffic, was on the phone with his wife, and, there, about a quarter to 6, he told her that he was going to go around it. She chided him, telling him not to go on one of his "expeditions", but he ignored her, being a typical man and needing to explore and find his own way (see TOB to understand this mentality), and took the 4th St. Exit. He found another bridge and crossed through downtown, then re-entered 35W from the next exit down, a few miles along in South Minneapolis.

By then, the bridge had collapsed.

He is convinced he would have been on the bridge, given the way the traffic was crawling, given the timing of it...and is thrilled to be alive. And sorry, all you women out there...thrilled he didn't listen to his wife.

This is a huge tragedy, and the repurcussions are NOT going to stop with Minneapolis. Already, States everywhere are assessing their bridges.

Many years ago, when I was a child, I was terrified of the bridges with the large metal support structures over them. When I saw them as we approached, it looked like scaffolding to me, and scaffolding meant that something wasn't finished being built, yet.

I don't know from whence my fear came, but whenever we took trips somewhere, invariably we would have to cross one of these bridges. And the surface, the strange sound the tires made on these particular types of bridges, terrified me even further; it was like nails on a chalkboard, to my sensitive disposition. And so when we were approaching this structure, I would scream and scream and scream, certain Dad was driving us into disaster. I literally could not control my screaming; it was terrifying to me, so eventually my family just gave me a pillow to scream into, and I agreed...what did it matter, when we were all going to plunge into the river we were crossing?

And the moment we crossed, my screams stopped, and I was fine. I did this for years, and I can't tell you when it stopped. I even remember, after I had learned how to read, coming across a magazine or newspaper article discussing a bridge collapse. In it, the author discussed how the collapse had affected people in the area, such that, even though they had not been on or near it, when it was rebuilt, or when crossing any other existing bridge, people had to drive them across. They could not do it themselves. They could rationalize, they could look at it and see that it was safe, but they were so terrified they could not cross. So volunteers literally stepped forward and provided the service of driving people across that bridge.

Being that this was one of my fears, the article stuck with me; I realize there were others out there fearful of the bridges, but they had a reason. I was a kid; we'd never suffered a collapse, my fear was based on misunderstanding and misinterpretation, and I did eventually outgrow it.

But yesterday, I was reminded of my fear, and realized it's not always irrational to assume a structure is dangerous and can collapse. The I-35 bridge was not a cable bridge or suspension bridge or a truss bridge, but it collapsed just the same. It was not the type of bridge that terrified me as a child.

But I guarantee you; those who were on the bridge will suffer fears for the rest of their lives. They are changed forever. Those who lost family members in this tragedy will suffer fears for the rest of their lives, and they are really hurting now. Those whose family members are yet to be found, they will perhaps suffer the most, for there is no end in sight for their suffering.

I don't know why I suffered such fear as a child, but I do know that such fear is sometimes appropriate. My heart goes out to all who were there, all who were almost there, and all who have loved ones who have been lost or killed...and I offer my deepest sympathies and my prayers.

Please keep all those who were on the bridge in your prayers, as they deal with the ongoing trauma as a result of this horrible disaster.

What to expect from a true Minnesotan

My Mom just sent this to me, and it's a jem!
*

Rules of Minnesota:

1. Pull your droopy pants up. You look like an idiot.

2. Let's get this straight; it's called a "gravel road." I drive a
Pickup truck because I want to. No matter how slow you drive, you're
going to get dust on your Lexus. Drive it or get out of the way.

3. You say our lakes smell bad to you. They smell like money to us. Get
over it.

4. So you have a $60,000 car. We're impressed. We have $250,000 combines that are driven only 3 times a year.

5. So every person in every pickup waves. It's called being friendly.
Try to understand the concept.

6. If that cell phone rings while a bunch of ducks are coming in; we
will shoot it out of your hand. You better hope you don't have it up to
your ear at the time.

7. Yeah, we eat walleye & northern pike and love it. You really want
sushi & caviar? It's available at the corner bait shop.

8. The "Opener" refers to the first day of deer season and the first day of fishing season. It's a religious holiday held, respectively, on the closest Saturday to the first of November and the second weekend of May, usually Mother's Day. The related holidays celebrating Hunting and Fishing Widows are held on the same dates.

9. We open doors for ladies. That applies to all ladies, not
necessarily all women.

10. No, there's no "vegetarian special" on the menu. Order steak. Or
you can order the Chef's Salad and pick off the pound of ham & turkey.

11. When we fill out a table, there are three main dishes: meats,
vegetables, and breads. We use three spices: Onion, Pepper, and Garlic!

12. You bring "coke" into my house, it better be brown, wet, and served over ice. You bring "Mary Jane" into my house, she better be cute, know how to shoot, drive a truck, and have long hair.

13. College and High School Football is as important here as the Lakers
and the Knicks, and a hell of a lot more fun to watch.

14. Yeah, we have golf courses. But don't hit the water hazards - it spooks the fish.

15. Colleges? Try St. Mary's, St. Thomas, St. Olaf, Concordia, St. John's or a satellite of Ave Maria. They come outta there with an education plus a love for God and country, and they still wave at passing pickups when they come home for the holidays.

16. We have more folks in the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, and Coast Guard than
any other state, so "Don't screw with Minnesota." If you do, you will get whipped by the best."