EMERGENCY CASH

Kate calls her mom and dad every Sunday night, just like her dad used to do with his dad. Kate lives in New York while she plugs away at her doctoral degree, and we are her mom and dad.

Last night I asked her about her friend T., who I know is struggling emotionally. Without giving away her private and deeply personal details, I share this one little scenario from last week. Because T was not returning Kate’s texts, Kate got in her car and drove over to T’s house. Her son answered the door, saying that their phones had been turned off.

T was not in a place to see even her best friends, so Kate returned to her car, looked in her secret place, and retrieved the emergency cash her Gram had always taught her to have on hand. She climbed the steps back up to T's front door and handed her son the money, telling him to get their phones reconnected. 

Then Kate drove to the grocery store, used her credit card to buy some goods, and took them back to the house, leaving them at the door.

Kate would not want me to tell anyone this, and I do not share it to glorify Kate, though she is worthy of that. I share it because I want to clarify what “emergency” might mean.

Kate’s Gram knew these situations well. She had lived on both sides of a $100 bill.

Emergency may mean you’ve run out of gas, or you have a flat tire in a strange town, or you’re caught in an unexpected snow storm and have to find a motel and wait it out for the night.

It might mean you stopped at Winco for groceries and it is only at the checkout that you discover they do not take credit cards.

Emergency might be that awesome midcentury modern record player you came upon at a garage sale, or the discovery of a farmer’s market when you’re passing through a quaint New England town.

It may be the mason jars filled with bouquets of peonies next to a hand written For Sale sign on the side of Main Street on Memorial Day.

Emergency may be the young man you saw in church yesterday, headed off to serve a mission this week. Or the kid down the street who just made the baseball team and you know first-hand the fees required to play sports in school these days. Or it may be the prescription you knew someone needed, but could not afford. 

Or it could be the friend’s phone bill that could not be paid.

And here’s a secret I can tell you, since my mom doesn’t need cash in Heaven: if you’re ever stuck, there’s help in the pages of Robert Frost. Up there on the bookshelf.

I used to wonder, when I was selling antiques, why the brown paper glued to the backs of framed pictures and mirrors was always ripped. Turns out its because dealers know that people used to store emergency cash there.

Praise the Lord that we do not have to deal with drug or alcohol or other addictive abuses at this point in our lives, or things might be different around here. I would not want to be an enabler. So, everyone in my clan knows where to find the emergency cash in our house, because I want them to know it doesn’t matter to me what their emergency is, as long as it’s not unhealthy or unkind.

Here’s your friendly reminder to keep an emergency bill or two stored in an accessible place, just in case.

And while you’re at it, maybe keep a spare portion of faith tucked away somewhere, in case you find yourself low on that someday.