It's not in the great and powerful that peace is won, but in the simple, seeming small, unnoticeable, everyday acts of kindness that hearts are softened and battles are conquered.
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If a hug could heal the worst disease, I'd elect Naomi to administer them to everyone. I'd like to share why ...
I was invisible. It was something I’d become very familiar
with so didn’t expect anything else.
I’d also been accustomed to having financial issues.
But never have I been caught. Exposed by the reality of our
deteriorating situation.
At least not until that weekend. Our annual writers’
conference. It was held in my hometown, so I had taken it upon myself to act as
chauffeur and hostess to the many guests who would be landing at Detroit Metro
Airport. For two days, I ran shuttles. For two days, I put myself in the space
of others who I’d never met face-to-face. I told myself I was stretching my
comfort zone. Making myself stay out of the corner where I could watch the
others and accept my place—on the fringe.
And then it happened.
Before I had the chance to pay for my room, I learned that I
would be overdrawn if I did give my roommate the half promised to her. She was
gracious and allowed me to send her the money later.
And if it would have ended
there, everything would have been fine.
But it wasn’t.
One disaster after another—personally—and I was a wreck by
the end of the first night.
Thank God I was invisible. No one would know I was in the
middle of a meltdown. No one would have to feel obligated to comfort a complete
stranger. I could simply melt into the walls and wait out the storm. Right?
Not if she had
anything to say about it. Naomi and I hadn’t spent much time talking. She was
busy. A worker. Sitting across the room from her, I could see the joy rise from
her spirit. And her stride spoke of a confidence in life that I hadn’t seen
much. I didn’t know much about her.
And when I saw her coming towards me in the corridor, I felt
certain I could slip past her—unseen.
She smiled.
My mouth wobbled into what I hoped resembled a smile.
She asked how I was.
“Fine.” I looked away, not wanting to betray myself and
sidestepped around her and tuck into a doorway at the end of the next hall.
“You are not.” She stepped with me and I found myself draped
in her embrace. I didn’t want to do it, but couldn’t stop the tears. My body
gave into the grievous sobs that I was sure no one would notice. I simply knew
no one would know whether I’d left the room, let alone the red blotches on my
cheeks.
But Naomi notice. She didn’t look through me that night as
I’ve known from countless others.
Naomi doesn’t know it, but she was the doorkeeper—greeter if
you will—to a weekend when God would begin to show me that I’m not invisible.
Never was. Not to Him.
(NOTE: Name has been changed to protect the identity and privacy of this person.)
Weaving words for the heart and soul,
