“They gave me your
number and said I could contact you.” I’d pulled over while driving as my phone
just kept ringing. Not being good at multitasking while driving, I decided that
to find out what was so urgent, it was better to pull into a parking lot and
attend to the persistent caller. The voice caught me off guard, and it took me
a few seconds to connect the voice speaking in Spanish to the conversation I’d
had which led to this one.
The next day I met her
outside the cafe where we had arranged to meet. A small lady with a nervous
expression and a quiet demeanour came to the door of the cafe. I asked her if
it was her I was meeting, to which she responded that it was. We sat down on
the benches covered in cushions, and while I slowly sipped my double-latte, she
started to tell her story. A story she’d carried alone for so many years. A
story of deep despair mixed with glimpses of miracles. The story of a journey
of seeking for more to life then what her country could offer.
As I journeyed with
her through her story I found my heart breaking for this little lady. She told
of circumstances that had deeply scarred her, and relationships bringing grief
and sorrow. As she walked me through what she had lived, we arrived at the
place she is in right now. A place of deep suffering. A place where endurance
is linked to the tiniest of expectation of something better to come. A place
that at times has caused her to think that death might be a better option than
to continue living.
I listened and she
talked.
As I felt her
desperation and listened to what she has to face day after day, my human mind
started to think about options to help her get out of her suffering and abuse.
Her situation seems to have no solution other then getting her out of it. But
then I remembered to ask her. It’s so important to ask the most important
question before we start bringing solutions: “What do you want? Do you want
help to get out of your situation?” Her answer didn’t completely surprise me.
For many the inability to see another option causes them to choose suffering
and the familiar, because the alternative is terrifying and impossible. And
that is where she is at. The summary of her answer was: “no.”
I told her that I
respected her choice, but that there are ways to help her should she change her
mind. And I said that I wanted her to remember that her life is so incredibly
valuable, and as we parted ways I said I would be praying for her. Her face lit
up, just a little, when I said we could meet for coffee again sometime.
As I watched the
little lady walk away she seemed a bit lighter. Her circumstances and journey
is still the same (and will be unless her choices change), but sharing ones
burden with someone has a way of lightening it and I hope that is what she
felt.
Walking home from
having heard a bit of her story my heart was breaking. Tears threatened to
escape my eyes, and my heart was weeping for her and with her. I felt her
hopelessness and so desperately wanted to help her. Yet at the same time I felt
such a sense of privilege. Privilege that this little lady would entrust me
with her broken story. That she would feel at ease to open her heart to a
stranger who could speak her language. And it gave me a sense of respect or awe
or something like that feeling you get when you are holding something very
fragile in your hands and you’re afraid to break it. I want to hold her and her
story well.
And so as I sit here
and pray and think about this little lady, I am struck by how when you look at
her you don’t see her story. She doesn’t wear her suffering on the outside, but
is carrying it hidden inside. And today I was invited in to hear a part of it,
and that is precious and heartbreaking.