I saw death today

I saw death today: in the face—and feet—of a woman. It wasn’t pretty. Actually, it was quite disturbing.

Minutes before I had been nice and warm in our local coffee shop. It’s the place on the corner of our little area of town, where all the locals stop by for a little caffeine or a small bite to eat. It’s kinda like your local Starbuck’s, but Hamburg style.

I was there for an hour or so, having my God time…reading my Bible and journaling. I had a great window seat, so every now and then I’d peer outside. I would say that most people walking by were pushing a baby stroller, with a little one with fat cheeks and blue eyes peeking out over cozy layers. The others were sharply dressed, talking happily with whomever they were with.

And then there were the customers standing in line ordering their coffee. We live in a nice area of Hamburg so the clientele here is what I will call pretty people. The women are neatly and stylishly dressed, with their winter boots and coats and scarves. I find the German women, in general, very beautiful. This is the city, you know, so there’s a bit of sophistication in the air—so even the men look a bit more classy and distinguished than you might find in some small little town. Anyway, it was a people watching morning of pretty people and pretty babies—makings for a very Happy 3rd Advent type of Sunday.

My solo time came to an end as it was time to head to church—and I could see through the window another dapper gentlemen with two adorable children in tow that needed my company. As the four of us headed to the bus, we were all of the sudden met by her—and I saw death. She was tall, wrapped in a coat, yet she had high-heeled sandals on with must have been very cold feet—today has been one of the coldest days of our winter thus far. Her lips had a bluish tone to them, and her skin was pale. Her eyes, well her eyes were hidden at times, as she was wearing dark glasses—not because the sun was shining I must add. I think she was there hiding behind her glasses, not wanting to be seen and known for who she really is. I have seen this before--with women before who carry such shame, they literally don’t feel worthy of being looked at—for fear that their deepest sins might be made known if someone really took a look at them.

She stopped us out of desperation and asked us if we had any Kleingeld (change) to spare, as she was so hungry. I don’t think she was hungry for food—more for a fix. I fumbled through my purse so as to give her at least a little something, and while I did, I asked her her name. She told us, and her name shocked us, as it’s the same name of someone very dear to us. I asked her if we could pray with her. You see, Kleingeld is really not what she needed.

Just then Buddy gave me a knowing look and said to me, “Why don’t you guys go have something to eat?” Catching his drift, I said, “Sure, would you like to go have something to eat with me?” “Yes,” she replied. Honestly, I was quite surprised that she said yes. So we said bye to Buddy and the kids and we were on our way. She wanted to go to the coffee shop I had just left. No problem.

On our way there, I asked her where she lived. She said, “Oh, down that way.” (I don’t think she even knew where she was). I asked her if she lived alone, or with a friend, or boyfriend, and she quickly answered, “My boyfriend died 2 years ago.” You know what, I believe her. It was as if her pain jumped out of her mouth and it stung as it hung in air. I said, “I am so sorry. That is horrible.” And she said, “Yes it is horrible.”

We got into line at the coffee shop and she was trying to figure out what to get to eat out of the glass case of sandwiches. I turned around to grab a table for us, and when I turned back around she was headed right out the door. I wasn’t surprised. I knew she wasn’t hungry.

I could have just let her go, but I at least wanted to say goodbye. So I caught up with her and said, “Hey, it’s totally okay if you don’t want to eat. I just want to say goodbye, and I also want to let you know that God loves you.” She said, “I know that already. I am a goddess.” I said, “Hmm. Okay...well I am certainly not one. But I want you to know--Jesus loves you. God can heal the pain in your heart.” She said, “I know, he has already done that.” And then she spoke of how ‘they’ were after her for 13 years, trying to kill her, and take all she had, and now all she had left was her apartment. “My apartment, it’s very dirty,” she said. Again, I believed her. It was probably filthy. And is it possible that she’s heard voices for 13 years and that she’s felt almost crazy at times? Yes.

As I talked to her I searched for her eyes through her dark glasses—and at times I could see them—she was looking at me all right, and listening. I pray she heard the truth that she is so incredibly loved. I could tell she wasn’t in the right frame of mind to continue to talk—and what she really was seeking I think was just plain money—money so she could try to medicate her pain. So I told her that she was beautiful and we said goodbye.

I called Buddy and told him that I would be on the next bus and would meet them at church. But I can’t say I had an easy ride to church. As we drove through the city I was sitting there thinking, I just saw death. It was clear that this woman’s very soul had been ravaged—from drugs, from pain, from people, from life in general. And oh how I wished that I could have done something more for her—you just want to take her and sober her up and give her a clean, loving place to stay. You want to see her healed and whole and living the life God has intended for her.

But I am not God, and I am not a Savior. What more could I have done? But there is One—a Savior. One that came swaddled in human flesh and that was laid in a manger. One who came to die for her—and for the pretty people as well. One who loves her more than any of us can imagine. And though death and darkness cloak her, the great One pursues her. And He will continue to do so. She is one of His lost sheep, you know, and He leaves the ninety-nine to go after her. Oh Jesus, may she be FOUND--in You alone.