“Some of us may think that ministry is a grand adventure. Ministry, however is simply loving the person in front of you. It’s about stopping for the one, and being the very fragrance of Jesus to the lost and dying world.” [Heidi Baker]
Her eyes twinkle when she laughs.
As I tell her in broken Vietnamese that my coffee is delicious, she repeats my words and laughs, her whole face lighting up.
I tell her she is beautiful, and she laughs again, pulling me into an embrace that is so warm, it feels like family. She kisses my cheek as her eyes continue twinkling.
I don’t know her name. I love her.
Today, I met her. Today, she is my friend.
Standing on the sidewalk in her pajamas, next to a small rolling cart filled with unidentifiable liquids that make up her livelihood, this woman selling coffee is a beautiful child of God. He made her. He loves her. He sees her, and today He has allowed me to see her too.
Sweet moments like the ones I’ve had with my coffee friend have peppered my month in Vietnam. As I’ve surrendered my time to Him, the Lord has opened my eyes to opportunities to love his children; to see them as He does, clothed in His love and forgiveness.
For so long in Asia I’ve used language barriers as an excuse to ignore people. I’ve used “I won’t understand what she’s saying” as an excuse to not talk to someone, an excuse to simply buy my food or walk by without acknowledging them as a person. I’ll make an effort with some, but for others, “it’s just too confusing.” But in Vietnam, it all came to a halt.
As I prayed this month, the Lord has given me eyes of love to see his children. To look around me and see the man driving the taxi or the woman selling coffee not as burdens, but as beloved children.
The Lord opened my eyes to look at people and recognize their beauty, to see their faces and know that their lives are filled with more joy and pain and experience than I can imagine.
Their lives do not start when I meet them, or stop when I say goodbye. But in the moments in between, God has shown me that I can be a part of their stories —as a person who made them feel known and loved and heard.
I still don’t know the name of my friend selling coffee, and she doesn’t know mine. I may never see her again. But during that second that I smiled, that minute I paused and said hello to my friend, I pray that she felt the deep love her Heavenly Father has for her. And I pray that in the future, the Lord would open my eyes to more women selling coffee; more men driving taxis.
They’re worth my time.
