Beneath her soft, enchanting smile… an ache desiring to be silenced by death. But to look upon her lovable face, you’d never know the desperate plea residing in her heart.
Yet the moment I saw her, I fell in love. Her sweet, full face. Her endearing laugh. Her charming, striped socks. Her slightly weathered hands. The simple sight of her made my lips curl upward and my heart grin wide.
A 5-minute walk from our cottage in the small village of Naslavcea rests her quaint, cornflower blue-painted home. There lives Maria with the soft smile. Maria… the old widow with no family of her own. Maria… an orphan with no one to help her, no one to protect her and no one to care for her.
But that day, Papa (God) sent us. He sent us to love on her, to help her with chores and even more so to hear her heart. As we sat sipping on the hot cherry cider she prepared for us, she spoke of her life, every now and then pausing to grace us with a smile. And every time one of our glasses emptied, she urged us (in Russian), “Drink, drink.” It was plain to see that company was an unusual blessing for her (especially the company of 6 young, American women), but one she much enjoyed that afternoon.
Just the few hours we spent with her were enough for me to leave both enamored and heartbroken. While she was lovely in every way possible, her charming countenance betrayed a dark yearning. Conveying the hardships of her life, she ended with the confession, “I don’t want to live anymore.” In that moment, her smile faded as truth welled up in her eyes, tears strolling down her cheeks, gone as quickly as they had arrived.
The somber words struck my heart, awakening a memory of a similar sentiment that had fallen from the lips of my great grandmother years ago as she sat in front of me weeping. Somber words… awakening a deep sense of compassion for people who feel abandoned, for those who have no one to love on them. And knowing that in just a few weeks, we’ll be leaving this village, never to see Maria again, my heart aches for her as I can’t help but wonder who will be there to love on her.
That day, I felt a bit reluctant to leave though I knew we had to. Before parting ways, we gathered around her to pray. We prayed over her knees, over her finances and over the aches of her heart. And as we rose from sitting around her feet, she grabbed each of our faces to kiss us farewell. When she came to me she kissed both my cheeks and then planted a firm one on my lips. And in that moment, she had stolen my heart completely. So much love to give despite isolation. So much joy despite pain. A paradox – Maria – a derelict widow to this world, yet a deeply treasured Queen in His Kingdom. In Papa’s world, none of us are alone, left for death; none of us are unloved, widowed or abandoned.
And though we aren’t able to stay here in Nacslovacea to help rake Maria’s yard or to sit with her while drinking her homemade cherry cider or to accept her sweet, unyielding kisses, we can continually pray for her. Together – we can pray… for the beautiful, cherished Queen Maria of Naslavcea.
Dear Papa, I lift up precious Maria to you. Please hear her cries of isolation and add comfort to her days. Wrap her up in your big, safe, burly arms and hold onto her tightly. Send people to love on her, people to help her with chores. Send money for her pockets and company for her loneliness. Give her assurance that her life here is not yet over, that you still have great plans for her. Breathe new life into her dry, aged bones, and wash over her aching body and heart with your peace, love and grace. Show her that when no one else is there with her, you alone are sufficient — that you are her father, her lover, and her friend. Show her that she is cherished, that she is seen and remembered. Show her that she is your beloved Queen and you are Her faithful King. These things I ask in the precious, holy name of Jesus. Amen.
