It was this past Wednesday morning that she came.
I might have glimpsed her before in the nearby town where I attend church, but I had never really seen her... slight frame; skin... the colour of dark chocolate; short, loose, kinky hair that had not felt the caress of a wide tooth comb in ages...
She was the picture of a woman on a mission as she strode purposefully down the street, lean legs propelled swiftly forward by bare feet... dark chocolate on asphalt.
I have already forgotten what she wore, but she has left her mark on me and she will not soon be forgotten.
Our eyes met, and she moved toward the wall that separated us articulating her desire as she came: "Miss, beg yuh piece o' bread nuh?"
DH had his back turned to her, as he awaited his ride to work, and she eyed him with suspicion. That made me wonder... Had she been hurt by a man in her recent history?
I turned mechanically toward the steps leading in, and - at that moment - I could not remember if I had responded audibly. My brain was a whir of activity as I grabbed the remnant of a whole wheat loaf that had been resting on the counter wrapped in clingfilm.
I rushed back on to the verandah to ask: "It's whole wheat. Do you still want it?" Yes, I believe beggars have a God-given freedom to choose, and I wanted to give her room to utilise it.
She nodded furiously, eyes all alight, and her soundless 'yes!' resounded in the atmosphere as I hurried to transfer the small package from my clean hands to her not-so-clean hands. She looked right into my eyes when she expressed her thanks, and I realised then that insanity and homelessness had not stolen everything. She must have been quite a gracious woman. I would have wanted to know that woman.
As she turned away from me, tearing through clingfilm and sinking her teeth into home-made bread, I wished I had given her something more... but a piece of bread was what she had asked for, and sometimes bread is all that satisfies.
That she came to make a request was not unusual, but the fact that she was specific beyond the usual blanket request for food was very unusual. Extremely unusual, however, is the fact that she returned the way she came...
In retrospect, I am convinced that she was sent by Someone who knows all, so she could afford to be specific. Having received that which her soul desired, she could return the way she came.
You see, that bread was baked on Tuesday afternoon, so it would not have been available to her on Monday or Tuesday morning. My men would probably not leave much (if any) behind by Thursday morning... so Wednesday morning was just right.
For both of us.
She taught me much by her approach to bread - unashamed petitioning, patient waiting, heartfelt gratitude, eager devouring, purposeful stride - and I was left to ponder:
- Do I seek the Bread of Life with such fervour and wait patiently for blessings from the hand of Him who has promised?
- Do I live consistently a life of gratitude? Is a gracious spirit something that all my acquaintances would remember me by?
- Do I take the time to devour the Bread of Life (the Word of God) at times when the road before me seems long and winding.
- Do I consistently live my life with an intention and purpose that is evident to all who I encounter?
My hands are maybe not as clean as I thought... it seems that 'Madame Dark Chocolate' might have had the cleaner hands after all.
I do believe I needed her more than she needed me... on Wednesday. No later.
Grace!
