Excited faces, rumbling stomachs, and the sound of bubbly laughter fills the street as 8 starving missionaries tumble out of a hostel in Sofia Bulgaria in search of a burger, pizza, anything that can be eaten over a good conversation. You can’t miss them, they’re loud, not super culturally aware, and speak the kind of English that makes every Bulgarian’s head turn with a mixed expression of curiosity and envy.
They continue on their journey stopping to take pictures and selfies in front of architectural masterpieces and Roman ruins, making a memory out of every moment that passes before their teams go their separate ways. Dashing down the stairs, they roll into the metro station like a tidal wave that finally breaks and then stops. All 8 of them come to a crashing halt.
They’re not a group of 8 anymore.
It’s in these moments God reminds you that you’re never off the clock. That there’s a bigger picture and more is at stake than just the meal ahead. That you’re not always prepared for what He has hidden around the corner of a metro station. It’s in these moments that you get to make a choice about who you’re going to be- God’s ambassador or just another passerby. But there are already so many passerbys.
She can’t be more than 3 feet tall because she’s so hunched over. She has two heavy grocery bags and a cane. She can barely walk and nobody sees her.
Two of the 8 World Racers look at each other and the decision is instantaneous. She doesn’t speak English but kindess can’t be bound by language barriers. Her bags are taken by two racers and a third one takes her hand. The rest of the group falls into step easily, naturally, no longer a tidal wave but a strong quiet fortress surrounding her.
And we begin to walk, now a group of 9.
She speaks and we don’t understand. She points and we follow. She stops and we find a translator. “Where are they taking me?” she wants to know. – “Wherever she needs to go.”
She wants to go to a place about 5 minutes away. But we know that at her pace it will take triple that amount of time if not longer. Our rumbling stomaches have been filled temporarily by the overflowing love the Lord has placed in our hearts.
The streets are crowded. Cars honk at us as we cross with her -moving at a snails pace. The light goes red and she’s only halfway there. People try to push their way through and around the wall we’ve created around her. Racers trade off the shopping bags wondering how she managed to carry them. She pauses often asking to see her bags, pulling tissues out of them to blow her nose.
We know that at some point she’ll stop and we’ll realize she’s reached her destination. We’ll never see her again and we have nothing to leave her with. One racer is humming Amazing Grace. I realize I can leave her with a song in her heart, or at least I can try. ” I feel like we’re supposed to sing to her”.
It’s a crowded busy area filled with restaurants and evening strollers out for gelato.
“What do you want to sing?”
We sing two verses and the chorus of Amazing Grace. People stare. But she’s worth it. We come to another corner and we’re out of tunes. She stops. She turns to look at me and begins to speak in Bulgarian. That’s the first time I get to see her face. That’s the first time I realize she looks so much like my late grandmother with eyes that hide rooms of curiosity, emotion, and a little bit of strong defiance -the kind that is ready to take on the world at 3 feet tall.
I loved my grandmother. But I didn’t go to visit her as often as I should have. I wasn’t as kind as I could have been, and didn’t help her as much as she needed. I regretted it the moment she passed. And yet here God was redeeming me of that, giving me a second chance to do what I never thought I would have the chance to do. She wasn’t my grandmother, but I think my grandmother would have been truly touched to have seen me in that moment. How grateful I am that my God is a God of second chances.
“bulgarietn butrologish!” She wants us to keep singing.
We sing Amazing Grace to her until she stops us at a restaurant, and calls through the door to the waitress. Confused we stand waiting.
“Is this where she’s trying to get to?”
“Yes, …….. she says thank you for helping her……….and she says thank you for the song.”
We give her back her bags and she sets down her cane. She shakes every single one of our hands. We wave goodbye as we walk on continuing the search for food with once again rumbling stomachs.
