We met a woman who filled the room with laughter. Her smile stretched from ear to ear, and her eyes could light up the darkest corner of the room. Her name will be spared, but for the sake of the story we’ll call her Mercy. She talked so much about our smiles and crazy hair, and the way we laughed. Her story, though, is not one to bring a smile to anyone’s eyes. She’s broken and discouraged. Her heart cries, perhaps without hope of anyone ever knowing or coming to her aid. I’ve heard these kinds of stories before, but only in books and movies. I’ve never shared the pain with someone beyond fictional characters. But these stories are real and this is hers.
Mercy is a beautiful woman, no one would doubt that. Her dark hair waterfalls down her back, and her deep eyes are curtained with thick eyelashes. And her smile…oh, her smile. It has a way of making you feel the excitement of laughter, the comfort of joy, and the warmth of love, all at once. And when she speaks it sounds the way milk chocolate tastes on your tongue; smooth, sweet, warm, with an aftertaste that leaves you wanting more.
When we first met her she sat at the front of the room with us and our translator, laughing at all our jokes and funny games. She would poke fun and pat our knees. she doesn’t speak any English, but somehow you still fee a part of the conversation. She stuck by our side the entire night, making us feel like we had a friend in the strangeness of a country that’s not our own. she sat with us through dinner, made us laugh until our sides hurt, and even dressed a couple of the girls up in her saris.
And then she asked for prayer. This isn’t an unusual thing here. But it quickly became one of the most unique needs for prayer that we’ve had so far.
She has three children with her husband. They, however, live in his parents’ village, at least an hour’s journey away from Mercy. Her husband was/is abusive, beating and threatening her life when they were still under one roof. He kicker her out and gave her back to her parents, saying her would likely end her life if they didn’t take her away. His abuse, unfortunately, doesn’t stop there. He keeps her children from her, not allowing any contact between them, deepening her wounds. She’s cried her heart out every day since he left her five months ago. Until the night we came.
Through our songs and the Bible stories she sat with such a captivated sense of understanding that one might think she knows English. She smiled with a joy that could only be from the Lord himself. When we prayed, she cried without shame, and at the end of it all, she called us her sisters.
What struck me the most, though, wasn’t the joy she carried, or the way she so quickly adhered to us, but that she still loved and wanted her husband. I’ve never met him, and I don’t even want to, feeling a righteous anger for Mercy. But she loves in in spite of his character and flaws, because in her heart she committed her life to loving her husband because through that she loves the Lord. Mercy understands something that took me so long to wrap my mind around. Love isn’t something that stays as long as it benefits everyone, although sometimes we’re lucky enough for that to be the case. No, love is the choice to open your heart, even with the knowledge of possible hurt. It’s the choice to always be in someone’s corner, and on occasion, fight for them. You don’t love because they love you well. You love because in spite of the flaws and the pain, they’re human, like you. And like you, though they don’t deserve to be loved at times, they were made by love, for love, and to love. God didn’t, and doesn’t, need us to love. He’s a god who lives in community with himself, the Trinity. He made us because he wanted to, out of love. And though we greatly fall short, he still loves us, in spite of our flaws, because of mercy.
Because of love.
