Uncomfortably perched on her chair she looked ready to bolt any minute. Not quite wanting to be there, but obligation kept her seated. She wasn’t one of “us” and everything about her body language and the way she answered questions said she didn’t want to be.
Yet, she came back.
Week after as we meet for Bible study this beautiful young woman sits among us. She’s heard the gospel. She’s been to church. But she’s not into this God stuff and doesn’t think she wants to be.
Yet, she came back.
Listening. Eyes wide and bright. She didn’t miss a word. Words her puzzle pieces. God is the picture on the box.
We are nothing alike her and I, and yet we are the same. Scarred by human hands and circumstances. Loving and timid. Scared. Hurting.
And in her I see me.
That girl the who wore hurt close to her heart. Hidden. A stranger to grace and divine joy I searched to fill my heart with love.
And so I looked for love in all the wrong places. In men who didn’t know how to love. In men never taught to value a woman. In food. In drink. In bars and old flames. Never finding this thing I wanted. This love I craved.
Instead I found hurt. Heartache. Disrespect. Loneliness. All wrapped up in counterfeit adoration and lies covered in darkness.
But Jesus changed that for me.
He showed me His love so that I could learn to love.
He showered me with grace so I could learn to pour it out.
He showed me my worth in Him so I demand it from those around me.
And here we sit opposite ends of the same couch. Opposite ends of similar walks.
Jesus between us.
Oh how I want for her to know Him. To breathe in the aroma of heavenly love.
I’ve seen her inhale these past few weeks.
And slowly she begins to grow. Like a tender plant just breaking through the soil her leaves small and bright. Her faith is sprouting.
How beautiful it is to watch a woman discover God. To fall in love with Jesus.
Now I am listening, her words grace and renewal to my parched soul. Her prayers of simple faith and unwavering trust teach me to pray in ways long forgotten.
As she grows. I remember.
How easy it is to let time and life erase your memory. Memories of the sweet scent of a Jesus like honeysuckle on a summer evening. Fresh. Delightful. Unmistakable.
And, oh, how I want other opportunities to grow and share with women. Sharing Christ with women is life changing…for them…for me. For us all.
Oh I can’t wait for the day when my Jesus is her Jesus.
When she is a tall, strong flower in God’s garden. Unique. Beautiful. Stretching heavenward for water and Sonlight.
Oh, Father, thank you for the opportunity to be in this Bible study. Thank you for allowing me to meet this beautiful sister and be a traveling companion on her road to you. I can’t wait for the day when she proclaims you as King and Savior! Amen.