Zelda and I, we step out of the Women’s Restroom at this rest area somewhere in middle California: Enoch Christensen. Enoch, the name makes me smile as I quietly walk in step with God. She, this thirty-or-so year old woman, is sitting on a park bench (not unlike Aqualung), faced the other direction (not unlike me on my path in life B.C.). She is alone (also like life before Christ). Her long, lustrous black hair is in a smooth side pony perhaps 20 times as thick as my own. Spanish, maybe? Quizas (kee-sahs, Thank you, Disturbia).

She looks forward. Aha! (More like discovery, less like woe.) Her skin porcelain (The word reminds me of The China Doll scary story we use to tell each other as kids). Perhaps, Greek. Italian? (Big, Fat Wedding, anyone?) She smiles at Zelda, her radiance captivating. Undeniable. She is beaming love. (And that always reminds me of God.)

I say “This is Zelda” while motioning toward the dog that bears more resemblance to a strange-looking cat. She smiles bigger. Is that even possible? “She’s fourteen.” She laughs a little, cranking up the wow-factor. “She’s totally deaf, partially blind but full of love.” I don’t mention how she recently peed on me while I was driving. She nods, still laughing. And smiling. Wow. Her love is beautiful (Christina Aguilera!). I smile. I laugh. I nod (like the Land east of Eden where we all wander at some point).

Then… it dawns on me: she has absolutely no idea what I am saying. We both genuinely laugh, broadly smile and nod in unison yet there I am wanting to communicate with her with words (reminds me of desperately needing to hear him say the actual words I love you when I knew… that he did). Do I try Spanish? Do I ask if she speaks English? Do I know any Greek? Italian? What do I do? What do I do? I do nothing. I walk away feeling slightly defeated (and Slighty Stoopid).

I didn’t get to tell her how her smile filled me with joy, how her laughter lit me up. How she lifted my spirit just by sharing that little bit of love (Much like my big sister, Kat). I kick a rock.

Selah.

Then… the Good Lord assures me that she felt the same, this Spanish Harlem Mona Lisa (Thanks, Matchbox 20). The silent exchange of love and acceptance was surely enough. (Just like with God.) In fact, we shared more than most.

Thanks, God. The Greatest Love of All (Thanks, Whitney!).

❤️🌈🧍‍♀️Eze 1:28