Heart Witness

I greeted hello to fellow church members.

“Happy Easter!” we said.

“He is Risen!” they replied.

I talked with a young girl (who I’ll call Rebecca) and her mom waiting by the doors to the church. She was waiting for her bus driver to come. She had invited her to hear her sing in the choir.

Your dresses looked beautiful, colorful flowers over a background of green. Little mister wore his suit to look like daddy and I found my seat, careful to not let little mister’s shoes snag my new dress. To no complaints whatsoever, we squished into our row at church.

Any face, any look that betrayed the otherwise pleasant atmosphere was met with, “We will sit together! We are family!”

So we sat on each other’s laps in order for dad and I, the five of you, my parents, and two of my cousins, along with their spouses, to all sit in one pew.

We were hardly into the sacramental prayer when William yelled, “I have to pee!”

*Sigh*

The age old story.

I quickly went through my options.

Take him right then and maybe miss the bread of the sacrament. No, Thank you.

Take him after the sacrament and miss Bill speak. Um… Bill has been away from church for four months due to sickness and it was a miracle — YES A MIRACLE — that he was even at church with his thin build and hollowed cheeks. No way I was missing him speak.

Then it was the choir… singing three numbers… one directed by me… the other two by dad…

Oh for the love, We better hurry, I thought.

“Run,” I said. And William and I booked it to the bathroom.

I didn’t even close the stall door.

*trickle trickle*

Seriously???

“Are you done??”

“Yesth mommy!”

We booked it out of there. The hymn was still being sung. We could make it!!

Wait. Was that the bus driver in the bathroom?

Oh my goodness. It was.

She was crying.

My steps slowed. “Want a drink?”

Little mister got his drink while I nervously looked down the hall. Do I go back?

The final verse of the hymn started. It was now or never. William grabbed the door to the chapel.

“Wait!” I panicked and look around, “Let’s look at this picture of Jesus.”

Ever content to please me, little mister touched the painting of Jesus while I continued to look behind me.

Nothing.

The sacramental prayer was said. People late to the meeting found places in the foyer. And finally, finally, she came out of the bathroom. I waved to her and she recognized me.

I don’t know how to adequately describe that moment. Knowing instinctively that my being there was no accident. That the only way Heavenly Father could have convinced me to be there in that moment was through my son…

Even though I normally treat the sacrament with holiness through silence and reflection, that day the holiness came through talking with and listening to this woman. Hearing how little Rebecca had invited her to come, how she didn’t know where to go, that she had gotten turned around in the building, how the kids on her bus are like her grandkids.

I am sure I had looks from other people wondering why I was talking at such a normal volume during the holiest moment of our Sunday.

But that moment was holy.

The moments after were holy, too…

Leading her to the front of the chapel to sit with little Rebecca and her family.

Then sending two of you girls to sit with her, also.

Leading you all in the song, Gethsemane, and having her right there on the second row beaming at you all.

My tears are not enough.

My gratitude is not enough.

But by the heavens, Jesus is.

He is risen, my little ones.

As Bill said in his talk, “I am not an eye witness of the resurrected Lord, but I am a heart witness.”

My heart is full of witnesses of Jesus. And I am so grateful you each hold my hand and lead me to Him.