I have been meaning to write about Hermione since I was doing ministry in Ecuador, but given that it’s better late than never and I am feeling reflective about my time on the race thus far, at last I write.
The first time I saw her, she was shuffling around the geriatric complex with one shoe off and one shoe on. She almost looked scary; a full hunch-back and a blank expression didn’t help her cause. I stood and stared from where I was talking to a different resident. After being distracted by a brief moment of concern, I turned back to the white-haired woman I had been talking to, and tried to shake the tiny old woman out of my mind.
A few days later, my team found ourselves back at the geriatric complex. This time I was located in the dining room, awkwardly spoon-feeding a woman rice and beans. In the midst of the feeding, I heard the sound of a woman’s sobs and wails. I looked up, and from down the hall, I saw the same hunch-backed woman in hysterics looking and pointing in my direction. After a few moments of pointing, she took a few steps towards me, cried again, and then motioned towards me as if beckoning me to come.
“Courty, what do I do?” I asked my teammate. “I think she wants me to go to her.” Despite my uncertainty, I sensed the Spirit pulling me up, and slowly got up from my chair then hesitantly walked towards the crying woman. She simmered down upon my approach and I took her hand. Squatting down so I could look into her face (she was so hunched over that I was her height while squatting) , I asked her what she needed in my broken Spanish. She just shook her head intensely and I knew at that moment she couldn’t speak.
“Awesome, God. What the heck am I doing with this woman? I can hardly speak Spanish, and now you put a grey haired old woman who can’t even speak in my care. What do I do?” I pleaded.
Ask her if you can pray for her.
And so I did. The woman allowed me to pray for her, and when I was done, she took me by the hand and led me to her bed where she allowed me to tuck her in. I tried to leave the room after rubbing her back a few minutes, but she began to cry when I got up for her bed. I decided to sing to comfort her this time. Within ten minutes, I had sung to sleep the same woman I had been afraid to look at two days prior.
Me and the woman during our first prayer encounter.
My remaining visits to the geriatric home was spent with this old woman. She would get a huge smile on her face every time she saw me, and each evening before we left, I would tuck her in and sing her to sleep.
Though all communication was seemingly at my end, we had excellent conversations. I would ask her questions, and she would either shake her head no, or smile a big smile at me to say yes. She loved to hear about my family the most, and was blown away by the fact that I have eight siblings. When I asked he if she knew Jesus, she smiled at me and did the sign of the cross, signaling she was Catholic.
During my last visit, I found out from a staffer that her name was Hermione.
My sweet Hermione.
She was a gift to me, and God knew what He was doing when He called me out of my comfort zone the first time I approached her. By stepping out, I was able to comfort a woman who didn’t have the kind of love and companionship she needed. And I was the one to be blessed in the end.
Papa gave me an unexpected friend; someone I will meet again inside the pearly gates of heaven. And I know she’ll remember me, and we’ll talk together, and laugh, and hug. And maybe in heaven I’ll be able to hear her sing me to sleep, because behind the crippled facade of Hermione is a huge heart crying out to love and to be loved.
Hermione and me during my last visit to her geriatric home. How could you not fall in love with her?
