I Greeted her in Thai by Alyssa Boss
As I sit here after ordering food at the Citylight Coffee Shop, I contemplate my day. We got to look at beautiful jewelry, so individual and full of different stories. I look around this beautiful coffee shop, a breeze coming off the fans and ruffling my hair. There’s a very clean black and brick vibe here, which I love. They have some of my favorite kind of lighting, what I call “Thomas Edison” lights, as well as street lamps providing a warm glow.
My teammates, new and very dear friends, stand or sit around me chatting. Some are reading newspapers in black leather chairs, others are catching up over coffee in chairs of rough orange fabric. I can look into the corner of the restaurant and see one of my new friends asking for prayer from my leader. I’m filled with gratitude for the chance to serve with such a humble leader. She prays over my teammate and reminds me how much we should be investing in each other as much as the other ministries we came to invest in.
As I wait for lunch, I look over my shoulder and see a woman starting to walk toward the door. She has to pass me to get there. Until she shuffled past me and finally looked up, I hadn’t noticed the cluster of purple and black surrounding her right eye. Mind you, I’ve seen girls in bars, dancing on tables and poles, minimally clothed. I’ve seen touts offering sex menus (yes, it is exactly what it sounds like). I’ve seen men look a menu, contemplating whether or not to purchase the body and time of a Thai woman. But this woman, this short and beautiful daughter, mother, friend, sister, whoever she may be.. this small, delicate human treads softly through a coffee shop. She looks curious, nervous even. She slowed down as she neared where I sat. She turned her head slightly my way, so I nodded and greeted her in Thai. She nodded back at me, the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of her mouth. As she went to walk away, I motioned to her dress, saying how beautiful it was. I had to motion again so she understood what I meant. Her eyes crinkled with another short grin. It was a fleeting happy moment, warm feeling, kind word.
She leaves, and I’m left wondering, how is it T H I S moment among all the others I’ve had, this image among all the other things I’ve seen this week, that shatters my heart and forces my tear ducts into overdrive? I’m sitting here wishing that I could convey the level of love and hope I walk in and that it is accessible to her too. Feeling helpless, unable to do more thank look, pray, and do charades to say hello and give a compliment, I breathe deeply. So, God… was this more of a moment for me than for her? Having to forget my inadequacy, my helplessness, and just trusting that Jesus will care for her heart as well as her physically? Was this one of those moments that people with more F A I T H than I have talk about? Letting go and letting God. All those cliche sentiments about how He holds her in His hands, we can only pray, and every other Christianese line I’ve ever heard. But… it’s true, isn’t it? That once I get past my physical eyes, once I put away my pride in thinking I can help her more than the One who created her, it’s like I lean back a little and sigh.
I lean into the Lord a little more easily, gently, slowly. A trust exercise for just God and I. Proverbs 3:5 taps me on the shoulder, reminding me to “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understand.” That would mean that I trust the Lord to take care of her infinitely, in ways I cannot. Though I may think I can do more in that moment, it’s the Lord who would woo her and win her heart. It’s the Lord who would repair brokenness and years of abuse. It’s the Lord who would redeem her and clean away all her shame. I think I can do so much, when in reality, I’m called to just be her friend. If I can’t do that, I’m called to pray for her. I intercede for her. I trust God and His eternal wisdom, His constant grace, and I believe in His unfailing love. A love that doesn’t fail means that I can trust her into His hands, and I should. Gently, slowly, I take another breath, and lean back into my Father’s embrace. I trust Him.
