I was blessed today. By a woman from Nigeria named Uma, in the middle of a courtyard. She had set up a place on a bench with her wares. Grass baskets with the colors of Africa that I remember so well. I stopped to chat with her, the deep accent and gentle eyes under the grey speckled hair drew me in. She talked to me of her calling by God. The one that brought her from West Africa to my sleepy little state.
She talked of obeying the call. She spoke of discipline. And we prayed as a cord of three stands and two drawn together. And she got me to wondering about entertaining angels and Jesus in our midst. I think she was put there just for me.
It has been a hard week and I’m away from my family and missing my babies. I don’t think I’ve ever been in such a vulnerable place before and my heart is tender and bruised, my eyes red-rimmed and my hands often shaking with concern. There have been few to confide in and even less who could understand the threshing of my soul.
I did not tell Uma my story for in truth it is not fully mine to tell. And yet a part of me feels that she knows. Inherently from the depths of her own heart or through the familiar pull of a calling.
We found sisterhood there on that ancient cobblestone. I left her with a smile and a wave as she blessed my time here and wove my family in the words of her faith. There is comfort in knowing that the paths we travel may feel lonely and dark, but there are those waiting to travel with us, be it a mile or a step, and it all starts with a simple hello.