I met a woman yesterday.
Well, I sort of met her. I introduced myself, but she didn’t utter a word; she simply bowed her head and wept.
I knew from the moment I saw her that she was utterly broken.
Her tears flowed freely for the entire 75 minutes I was in her presence.
Her shoulders slumped in defeat beneath her burnt-orange wool coat.
Her pain was almost palpable, like a physical presence hovering in the room with us and the dozens of other people milling about. I could barely look at her without tearing up myself; and yet, I couldn’t look away.
I ached to comfort her. But I knew she might not welcome it.
So I simply rubbed her arm and spoke the most comforting words I could think of.
Before walking away, I placed a tissue in her lap as she continued to cry, her face buried in her hands.
It’s a helpless sort of feeling to leave someone in such agony, knowing she doesn’t have a Comforter.
No one to heal her broken heart, or bind up her wounds.
Because she doesn’t know even one thing about my Jesus.
I hope she somehow saw Him in my eyes. Or felt Him in my touch.
But she doesn’t yet know that He’ll heal her of every sick and sin-shattered place, if she’ll only reach out and touch the hem of His garment. (Matthew 9:20-22)
She doesn’t realize that He’ll resurrect her from death itself, if she’ll just heed the tender voice calling her name. (John 11:43-44)
She isn’t aware that He won’t exploit her shame, but will instead look her kindly in the eyes and beckon her to go and sin no more. (John 8:1-11)
I hope and pray for the opportunity to share these things with her someday soon. Because our story isn’t over yet, hers and mine.
This Thanksgiving, I will thank God for my blessings.
I hope you do, too.
I will even spend some quiet time counting them.
I hope you do, too.
But I will also intentionally recall to myself and to all who will listen that I’m not blessed because I’m more deserving. Or more on top of things. Or more…anything.
I’m blessed to be a blessing.
Not to fist my hands tightly around what He’s given me and celebrate its bounty.
But to bow my head humbly as I hold open hands beneath the flow, letting it spill freely onto others.
Will you pray for the woman I met yesterday?
And will you find one like her and share your Comforter?
Because if not me and you, then who?