Dead at Thirty-Two

When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.

—Matthew 9:36

About two hundred years ago (or was ityesterday?), Alice lived two doors away from us. She didn’tprofess to be a Christian, and those of us who knew her well knewshe had struggles, like the rest of us, which she didn’talways win. But Christ loved her. And, Christian or not, heworked in her life, making her cheerful, sensitive, sympathetic,and generous. Like so many others, she had a hard life. She hadfour children, serious heart trouble, and a hard-drinking husbandwho gave her many a beating.

I can still see her in the street, leaningagainst her window with her arms folded, wisecracking with theneighbors, milkman, or anyone who showed the slightest interestin being friendly. More than once I caught her crying, wonderinghow she was going to get through the week with so little moneyand so many things to be done with it. She was thin, too thin,and her skin was clear and smooth, almost transparent. (With skinlike hers, we could easily see the bruises.) She kept her hairswept up, and her eyes were strikingly beautiful—pale blueand big and round. She died undergoing her second heart surgery.I think she was thirty-two years old.

Alice reminds me of all the people I’veknown who, day after day, without end, struggle to keep theirheads above water. Never, in all their lives, are they able to goto a shop and buy something without first doing seriousarithmetic. Never, from the cradle to the grave, are they surethe money for rent, heat, food, and clothing is going to bether