There were so many moments in Nepal that I am convinced will be forever ingrained in my mind. One of the most impactful and unforgettable moments for me was the interaction with the woman on the streets with the persistent heart.
I was walking down the streets with my teammates and went to readjust my bag and this woman fearlessly intercepted my hand in midair. Before I knew what was happening, she had a grip on my hand, that to me implied that if she let go, she would fall away and never be picked back up again. After a brief second, I looked over to see the face of who I had connected with and looked into the eyes of this woman who from what I could tell, did not receive love very often. She was clothed in what could best be described as rags, her hair was every which direction, there were bandages on her cheeks and this indescribable expression on her face. She seemed to not be fully there mentally, which was later confirmed by a Nepali, but that did not matter. She feels just as everyone does. She has a story just like every other person.
We each threw out a phrase in our natives languages, before quickly realizing that verbal communication was not an option, and we both just settled into the steady pace of walking hand in hand. I continued to look back to the girls on my team and the sweet Nepali woman from the ministry we were working with that were walking behind me to confirm that all was good and to try to nonverbally communicate about if she had any suggestions how to handle this. It was quickly reinforced that they had no more of an idea what was going on than I did, and that it was pretty much just me, God, and that woman.
After a minute or two, me and her intruded a little too far into the street, with her being the one closest to the cars. My right hand in hers, I reached over to put my left on her back and to usher her further from the traffic, and she quickly reached her free hand up to cover mine that was rested on her back. It felt like it was with such desperation, as if she never experienced a loving hand on her back. I could have easily misinterpreted her motivations, but everything in me felt like all she wanted was just to know that there was someone that would not turn her away and reject her. That she wasn’t too worn out, dirty, beaten down to be loved. That if only for a moment, she could have interactions with someone who would just share life with her, walking hand in hand. She did not put her hand out for money as so many others we had passed, she put hers in mine so as to, best I can tell, just know she wouldn’t be turned away.
We walked like this for a good five minutes or so, after which she retreated to the side walk, sat down, and waved goodbye, as my team and I continued on whatever mission we were on at the time.
As soon as I walked away, I had immediately regretted not ending that interaction with her differently. Wishing I had prayed with her, hugged her, just sat with her in silence for a moment to show her she doesn’t have to be alone. Something. Threw up a brief prayer that I wouldn’t expect it, but if God wanted to let mine and her path cross again, I would be OK with that.
As fate turns out (or truthfully the graciousness of our God), a good number of us were walking home from an evening of fellowship down the dark streets of Kathmandu. I was conversing with someone, literally in the middle of my sentence, when we walked right by this woman I swore I had seen before. It was a weird combination of feeling like I had just seen a ghost, or had deja vu, or something of the like. This woman was there for a fleeting second, and by the time I had registered what happened, she was gone again. I looked around to the fellow ladies who had been there the first occurrence, and they confirmed that she was in fact the same woman from earlier in the day. God had answered my prayer, just not in the way I had expected. I was hoping for a chance to “redeem” the interaction from earlier, leaving without any sort of resolution or goodbye, but she had disappeared into the night before I had connected the dots.
I don’t have all of the answers. I don’t have some epic story of healing or some monumental heart lesson that changed my whole perspective on life. All I know is that in that five minutes, walking hand in hand with that woman, not exchanging any words, my heart connected with hers. The age difference, culture barriers, life circumstances, experiences- none of it mattered. We were each human beings with hearts and souls, with suffering and joy.
The way that that woman clung onto my hand is the way that I want to learn to cling to Jesus. To stop trying to walk this life myself and take care of myself, guide myself in the right direction with no assistance or company, no comfort of simply having someone to walk hand in hand with. This stage in my life right now, I very much feel is just me and God learning to do this whole thing called life together and to stop looking to others for that comfort, consistency, affirmation, or support. He is the one I need to cling to as the only true source of life and love.
(Side note- Just gotta share that as I am sitting here typing this blog, the song “Take My Hand” by Jeremy Camp came onto my play list.)
“Take my hand to the promise land and on You I want to stand ‘Cause I cannot do it on my own. You’re what I need and I need to be. Right by Your side ’cause I cannot hide Lord, I know that I need You.”
