I was walking down the street when I saw you. Curled up in a ball leaning on that concrete wall. My heart broke for you as I walked passed. But I’d didn’t even stop. The next evening, I saw you again, you hadn’t moved. You were still curled up, scarf covering your face, shivering. This time I couldn’t just walk by and go on with the rest of my life. You looked lonely, afraid, lost, things I know all to well. I remembered I wished someone would’ve seen me, sitting on the curb of my own. I heard a voice in my head say “see her the way I see her.” So I went back to you. I tapped your shoulder, no response. I tapped again and hesitantly said “hello, how are you?”. You turned your face toward me, your eyes were filled with sorrow. I couldn’t make out any words through the coughing and mumbled voice. I could tell no one had talked to you in a while.
I waved down one of the vendors to translate for me. I told the man to ask you “are you ok? are you sick? are you hungry? are you cold?” and you told the man that you like bread, and you were very cold. I looked at my friends, tears welling up in my eyes. I asked “what can we do?” My friend Alex didn’t hesitate to buy you a coat. I handed you my gloves. I went to the nearest restaurant and bought you a sandwich, a croissant, and hot water. We came back and put the jacket on you. You’re face lit up with the most beautiful smile. You sat back down and I handed you the food and water. I knew this wasn’t enough. So I sat with you. You told the translator your husband had died, your 3 daughters had forsaken you and don’t speak to you, you had no roof to cover your head. You said you sleep on that corner every night. I looked at you with my heart in pieces. The lord told me to tell you the story of the women at the well. I said “there was once a man and a women at a well. The women was seen as low in society, she was an adulteress. But this man saw her for who she was. He didn’t see her as the labels this world had put on her. He saw her as clean, he saw her as loved, he saw her as his daughter. I’m like that man. I see you for who you are. I don’t see what this world sees. I see you as loved.” When I had finished, you looked at me in the eyes and said “you are an angel from heaven, you are like my daughter”. And then you said “I only take what I need, give this croissant to someone else who needs it.”
You could’ve saved it for the next day, you could’ve made it last, but no. I asked the man to ask if you were Christian, and you said you were. I asked if I could pray for you, and I did. You had no cents to your name, no food, no water, no family but you had your faith. You had nothing, but possessed everything. You showed me Jesus in that moment. You showed me sacrificial love. You showed me to give even though you have none. A crowd had surrounded us as we talked and laughed and sang songs. Men and women of all kinds. So many people saw the face of Jesus that night. The rest of the time, I just sat with you, while my friends were talking with all the people on the street. Your sorrowful eyes turned into a beautiful smile that my heart will never forget. We sang songs, and laughed together. I don’t know your name, (she had forgotten it), but gosh you are so LOVED.
As I walked away from that women, my joy soon turned to tears. My teammate Gil embraced me as I ugly cried through the streets of Thamel. While I was trying to show her the face of Jesus, she showed ME Jesus. In the story of the women at the well it talks about Jesus being the living water: “Jesus said to her ‘everyone who drinks from this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life” John 4:13-14. She knew that the sandwich and water I had given her would only satisfy her for the night, but the one true God would satisfy her forever. She showed me the art of freely giving.
Lord, I pray for that woman and the people reading this post. Please let them only see your face, and never mine. Let this story only be a testament of your goodness and only glorify you, not myself. It was your words that were spoken, not mine. I just got to be a vessel for you Jesus. Thank you for humbling me through that women by the wall.
