I was not prepared for what happened next.
She turned abruptly and yelled, “Get out of here! Don’t touch me!”
I see her almost weekly. Sometimes I see her walking past our home. Sometimes I see her walking down Main Street near the grocery store. And sometimes I see her far from my home, on the other side of the city. She has very short blond hair, a woman in her 50’s, and different outfits each time I see her. She walks with a limp but has speed to her step. I’ve never seen her meander slowly anywhere. Many of the times I have seen her she has had a joyful, or at least content, disposition. She talks to herself as she walks and it delights me when she loudly sings, “Glory, Glory, Hallelujah!”
I don’t know her but I want to.
I wonder.
Where do you live?
What is your name?
How old are you?
Would you like to come for dinner?
Did you always walk with a limp?
I was on the phone as I parked in front of my house. The sun was hot through the windshield, but I lingered with my conversation. In her knee length blue skirt and bright pink t-shirt, I watched as she walked down the city street passing one parallel parked car after another. Her pace was steady, and her demeanour was pleasant. As she came closer to my car, I lost sight of her.
Looking around, I spotted her in my blind spot. I didn’t look long.
“I’ve got to go,” I said to my friend. “There is a woman standing beside my car.” I hung up the phone, a little nervous, a little excited, but eager to get out of my car.
Why did she stop?
Is this a God ordained moment?
Will I have an opportunity to chat with her - to ask her my longing questions?
Please don’t leave until I’m out, my friend.
I want to know you.
With a smile broadening my face I grabbed my purse and water bottle. I quickly hopped out of the car to greet her. Her glistening face was down with eyes on her white running shoes. She shuffled quick short steps from the left to the right on the concrete sidewalk, her white running shoes keeping her steady. My heart was racing. Knowing she was created by a loving God, I wanted to hug her. I wanted her to feel my love for her.
I spoke soft but clear. “Hi there. How are you?”
She took a quick look at me, returning her glance as quickly back to her white running shoes. “Do you have any spare change?”
I don’t give change, but I didn’t want her to leave me quite yet.
The apple I didn’t eat at lunch?
The water in my bottle?
Was the box of granola bars still behind my driver’s seat?
Would she accept my hug?
As if a reflex for me now, I gave her three points of contact. Gently touching her elbow and looking in her eyes I tilted my head sadly to respond, “I’m sorry, my dear, I don’t, but could I offer you some fruit or water?”
Without acknowledging my words, her white running shoes carried on down the street. I felt at peace. She didn’t need the money. She lived where she had care. She was always neatly dressed, clean and well kept. Her skin colour was a healthy pink and she was a consistent weight every time I saw her. God was with her.
The next encounter was different. Early morning clouds covered the sun and the air was cool. She was not far ahead of me as I headed out for my walk. Since her pace was steady and quick, I had to pick up my pace a little to get closer. Neighbours were leaving for work, children were off to camps, but no one was on the sidewalk where we travelled behind each other. Her white running shoes were topped by blue pants and a white jacket that day.
I was giddy with anticipation to speak to her again.
What would I say?
How would I make the most of this opportunity?
How would I approach without frightening her?
She was kind and calm yesterday.
That, I thought, would be the character I would encounter. It was not. I tapped gently on the thick of her jacket, stepped out beside her and softly said, “Excuse me.”
I was not prepared for what happened next.
She turned abruptly and yelled, “Get out of here! Don’t touch me!”
With a smile and a gentle, “I’m sorry,” I lingered to see if she would be able to settle and see that I meant no harm.
No. She stopped abruptly and motioned for me to hurry ahead of her.
Guilt, of course, filled my heart.
What were you thinking?”
You know better than to touch people.
You probably scarred her for life and she’ll never trust anyone walking down the street again.
I was wrong. She smiled at me the next time I saw her.
God is that way.
I can’t wait to see her again.
Questions:
How did you feel when I got out of my car?
How did you feel when I approached my friend from behind?
How do you interact with strangers?
Is your heart curious or concerned?
Does fear intercept your interactions?
How did Jesus get close to the unexpected?
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