Dear Sweet Lady,
I don’t know your name. I don’t know where you live. I don’t know anything about you other than the fact that you were wearing a tattered pink sweater that was probably very beautiful once upon a time.
But in spite of knowing absolutely nothing about you–I love you dearly.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you a couple weeks ago. I was sitting on the concrete flower box outside the bookstore on a Sunday afternoon which was also Labor Day–and thus that part of town was completely closed down and dead. There I sat, all alone. And then I heard you behind me. I glanced back and smiled at you, and you immediately brightened and came and sat next to me. Right next to me. I put my hand on your back and asked what you were up to. You replied with “A whole lot of nothing.” You looked listless and somewhat tattered. It was in that moment I realized–you don’t have a family to love you. You don’t have a home. You don’t have anything. And you were sitting smack up against me because you wanted someone to care…somewhat to not shy away from you…someone to interact with you…you wanted contact.
Oh, my dear, I’m so blessed and honored that I could be that person. It was so sweet to me to sit next to you, even in the silence that filled the air around us. We didn’t need to talk…we were both content to just sit there and enjoy each others company.
Thank you for seeking me out that day. I shall forever remember you. I pray for you. I want to come see you again, but I don’t know how to find you. I want to tell you about One who loves you more than you could ever imagine. I want to show you His love. I want to know your story.
I’ve driven past that same bookstore a few times since then, and that concrete planter holds a special place in my heart now.
Let’s meet there again?