Today a woman I love who I’d never have met were it not for my work and a shelter, a temporary home.
She stopped by with her girl who was born there, now 3.
Just stopped by to see me.
We talked about a young woman who is helping her, a beautiful girl the age of my daughter.
We both agreed. She is special.
“The Lord your God is in your midst, a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing.”
Zephaniah 3:17 ESV
Then the woman who used to live in our shelter said, “I want to be like her when I grow up.”
I said, “me too”.
Then I told her and I meant it.
I’m not there yet either.
Not in the place of joyous all the time hope and freedom but I’m closer than I’ve ever been.
And so is she.
Then, I reached for the paper under my keyboard with Isaiah 43:19 and I told her about my Sunday, how I prayed and cried and prayed to finally believe.
I am free.
She held the little slip of paper and then said, “I hope I can remember.”
I told her to keep it.
I don’t need it.
She reached across my desk for a pen.
Then we told each other goodbye and keep praying, no stressing and don’t give up or give in.
I noticed the paper when she laid it on the table to put the jacket on her baby.
In blue ink she had added.
Forgetting the former.
Tonight, I read just a sentence or two of someone’s blog. The idea of God being our nourishment, otherwise we’d never grow.
I thought of my existence, of my faith being like long ago designed genetics, like deep roots I’ve only just begun to allow to be fertilized.
I thought of how I am growing at a rate lately that seems to have been after a stagnant stretch of nothing happening too long.
Yet, I’ve been cared for and I’ve been attended to and now finally, I will grow, my growth is beginning to have an ease about it, a natural bloom.
Finally free and thus, able to grow.