As the volume and pitch of her tear-laced words crescendoed, I saw him reach down with his left hand and put it under her chin, lifting her face toward his.
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It was a rather unassuming morning, another attempt of me trying to get into the healthy habit of going to the gym before work. As I drove around the last curve of the broken black top driveway, movement off to my right side caught my eye. I glanced over and quickly observed two people standing off to the side of a building as I coasted by. Ok, whatever. I shut off my car but when I opened the door to get out, I heard a woman’s voice followed by broken, staccato words mixed with the heart-wrenching sound of tears. She wasn’t just crying though…she was ugly crying! That piqued my concern. I got out and glanced over in her direction with nonchalant movement, not caring as much about the subject matter of the conversation as the condition of the woman I heard.
And there they were. To the left was an older black man probably in his 60s. He wore old wrinkled clothes and a tattered, crumpled up hat that was placed above his forehead as though he had pushed it back. The other was a young woman most likely in her late teens or early 20s who was wearing a bright blue staff shirt and athletic shorts with her hair pulled back into a hair band. She was clearly upset with tears streaming down her face, her small frame and fallen countenance heaving as though her burden was deep and overwhelming.
In between feigning glances into my car, I watched as he patiently listened to her with muted expression. As the volume and pitch of her tear-laced words crescendoed, I saw him reach down with his left hand and put it under her chin, lifting her face toward his. The movement seemed to be in slow motion. Now with their eyes locked, he took both of his hands and placed them on the outsides of her shoulders, only releasing them to use hand motions accentuating quiet and evidently calming words I couldn’t understand. Still sniffling, she absorbed all he had to say, never looking away from his gaze. After a moment of sacred conversation between the two, she broke his grip on her shoulders, falling into his chest with her arms around his ribs. He too wrapped his arms around her shoulders and they stood there a few seconds among a few more words. Then, she wiped her eyes one more time and side by side, they walked back around to the front of the building and out of my sight.
Simply beautiful.
That event has stuck with me these past few weeks, but I’ve not had the opportunity to narrate all the moving pictures stored in my heart. What I saw was beautiful, showcasing the best in humanity…illustrating exactly what God has purposed us to be for one another. What’s more interesting to me though is how these two people defied almost every society-driven division in their conversation. He was black, she was white. He was old, she was young. He was a man, she was a woman. He was a janitor, she was one of the managers (I later found out). And yet, powerful ministry took place between the two of them that transcended each and every boundary. I’m thinking God was proud.
Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.
Galatians 6:2 (NIV)
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