The Woman at The Diner
This is a reflection I wrote, somewhat more of diary entry, right after a visit to a local diner. I was going through a difficult season and had a lot on my mind. To be honest, I really just wanted to eat a lot of bacon and eggs and drink several cups of coffee, and process, but the Lord used a situation to open a door of ministry. Everything is how this night began, but I end my reflection before the ministry began.
Sitting in this diner, I am feeling quite aware of my surroundings. It’s late and I am just getting started on my first cup of black coffee. I see everyone but it is like they cannot see me. There is a lot on my mind tonight, and I am busy trying to sort everything out. As I reach for the menu my thoughts are interrupted by the men and women sitting at the table behind me.
They are talking about the woman outside, and I immediately know who the discussion is about. She’s the one I walked around to get inside. The one almost laid across the sidewalk in front of the entrance. I can still see her through the window, she hasn’t moved. Surely she’s homeless. I glance again and see her sitting now, cradling a kitten in her arms, enjoying a rich conversation with the orange tabby.
Then I hear the voices again, discussing this very rough looking lady, making the usual jokes about a person in this situation;
“Someone needs to go check on the cat, and make sure it doesn’t catch something from that woman!"
"She better not try to come in here!”
The noise and laughter from the table is more distracting than the woman outside.
Emotions begin to well up inside and I work to calm myself, reaching for my cup of coffee, silencing the voices behind me.
I look outside and cannot help but wonder where her parents are, and what brought her to this state. My questions pause as quickly as they begin to come, and I find myself amused by how much comfort the cat brings to this broken soul. How precious that she has some living thing she can speak to that will show her some form of affection. She tries to let the cat go, but it stays right beside her, forcing her to pick it up again. She laughs as she tries to get the cat to run along. In her laugh I see a little girl, and again begin to probe deeper. As a child, did she ever see herself as a princess? If so, which one? Did she play dress up? Did her father ever hold her and call her beautiful?
She laughs again and tries to get the cat to leave, and then begins to rub one of her arms, and I wonder how many needle wounds there are, and how fresh. Through the obvious baggage, looking (I am sure) much older than she actually is, the questions again begin to pour in like an avalanche now. Where did she sleep last night? Does she have a friend? Who can she call tonight if she needs help? If something were to go wrong, if she were to overdose, will anyone come to identify the body and claim her? Are her parents worried? Do they care? Do they know where she is? Does she have any children?
She must be close to thirty, but I would not be surprised if she were in her early twenties. The hardness of life has a way of aging us.
How many Scribes and Pharisees will drive by her tonight, including the ones sitting at the table behind me? Where is the Good Samaritan when you need one?
My thoughts begin to overwhelm me, yet again, and the well of compassion begins to rise. Tears find their way as I imagine my three daughters, and even think of my son. What if this were one of them? Lonely. Addicted. Laughed at.
My mind begins to dance, and I imagine Jesus walking in, sitting at another booth. He is surrounded by a few friends that He calls disciples. They are all chatting about their day, laughing and joking. Peter begins to talk about how much bacon he is about to destroy. But then...
Jesus looks outside the window. He sees this precious woman. He stops laughing with His crew (but they carry on). He watches her every move. It’s as if He can hear her conversation with the kitten. His observatory skills go so much deeper, recognizing that even in her sin riddled body she can perceive the glances coming through the window. She understands the conversations taking place, and though she appears to be immune, her heart still aches. His heart begins to swell, His eyes begin to get wet, and then He turns and looks at me.
