A Warm Woven Hug

The stream of travelers formed a line that stretched over 300 feet before it reached the entrance of the U.S. Customs Office in Mexico.  Low clouds hovered and the wind kicked up rapidly for a long frigid wait.  I enjoyed a chat with the young, affable woman next to me in line as we discussed politics, parenthood and prices of healthcare.  I learned that we shared a mutual faith in God.

My husband noticed our bond as we laughed and tossed our verbal viewpoints back and forth like a friendly game of ping pong.  Most importantly, he observed that she wore a short-sleeved top with her skirt and no coat whereas I had mine zipped to the max.  He haggled with a street vendor and then wrapped a dark brown shawl around the girl’s shoulders.  He chose a good match with a colored weave to compliment her brown hair and eyes.

She leaned in and whispered:  “Your man is kind.”  I answered back:  “He’s compassionate.  Receive it as a hug from Jesus.”

Travelers dread those hour long lines, but it seemed like minutes to me.  I lapped up intelligent, deep conversation with her about the joys of life as well as its challenges.  We arrived at the gate and finally passed through customs.  It felt good to be back in our homeland.  I tucked my passport in my wallet and said goodbye to my brown-eyed friend. 

My husband led the way to our parked car and I slid across the front seat thanking him for just being him!  “You have no idea what you just did,” I told him.  He thought he provided warmth to a cold, shivering woman.  His kind act went much deeper than he imagined. 

His countenance fell when I told him that my Kingdom sister, despite her astute communication skills and upbeat attitude carries within a hurting, heavy heart.  Her husband filed for divorce and shows little interest in her and their four children.  She is a woman in desperate need of a loving touch because her heart is broken.

Every woman wants her husband to love her; every woman wants her man to validate her and cherish her.  I imagine the emptiness of her soul.  I imagine the lost, dark place inside and I wonder what it feels like to be ignored from the very one from whom she needs approval.

I ponder the strangers I meet daily.  They look and act like everything is rosy and yet who knows if, on the inside, they carry a wound that’s unbearable.

Mrs. Brown Eyes pops into my mind at times and I say a prayer.  I ask God to anoint that shawl with His warmth and affection so that every time she wraps it around her shoulders, she feels His embrace loving her everywhere that her soul hurts. 

A surprise hug from Jesus, that’s what the shawl really communicates.  Aren’t hugs like that the best kind?