Parking Lot Romance

She had long brown hair. Unkempt, slightly wavy, thrown up in quick ponytail to lend more time to her daily duties, but most definitely long. She was pretty, with a tan, even skin tone, a skinny, toned body, and a delicately structured face which perfectly framed sharp blue eyes.

But she was haggard, he thought, as he watched her.

No kids in sight. No stress-causing husband, as her naked left hand loudly announced, and no nagging mother waiting with her at the front of the market. She was alone, and obviously exhausted.

He sat from a nearby Starbucks patio in the unbelievable heat and observed her. The slight dash of freckles splayed across her nose, her short and somewhat neglected fingernails, and the only piece of jewelry she wore: a cross necklace. Real white gold (if he had anything to say about it) with an inlayed diamond in the center. He wondered if she believed what she loudly and elegantly proclaimed around her neck.

Slurping the last drop of his iced soy latte, he wiped the sweat from his forehead and opened his Bible. But no matter how many times he asked for focus- for direction- his energy constantly redirected to the woman sitting on the curb across from him.

What was her story? She had an air of strength about her, as if she passed through fiery trials and survived... but only survived. As if she were still fighting the battles that her history thrust upon her.

Where did she come from?

Her slender fingers dipped into her canvas purse and emerged with a cigarette. She fingered it for a few minutes, staring at it intently, as if she could see death itself in the small white stick. Her eyebrows pursed and she bit her lower lip, ever so slightly, evidently deep in thought. He placed his Bible on the table in front of him, allowing his allotted Jesus-time for the day to slip away and leaned forward, readjusting so his back sat more comfortably on his slipped disk. Watching more intently than ever, he observed her eyes slowly close, her lips begin to move, her fingers fiddle with the cigarette. Two minutes must have passed. Three. Five. After what felt like a lifetime, her right hand abandoned the cigarette to her left hand and moved to her tan cheek, wiping away a tear. It then took another dive into her bag and retrieved the full box of cigarettes as well as the lighter. With great hesitation, her gaze drifted towards a nearby trash can. She stood, revealing the long, beautifully toned legs of a dancer, and walked nearer the garbage can. He stared, mentally noting the emotions that were passing through her face with rapid progression: fear, curiosity, anger, remorse, hopelessness, stubbornness, brokenness, confusion. She finally relented, tossing the cigarette and its companions into the trash can.

It was then that her tears flowed freely.

A simple scene, he thought. A smoker. Low-life trailer trash who spent too much time at the gym and the tanning booth, finally making a good decision for herself.

But was that really what it was?

She knew he was staring. She didn't care. He was just like the rest of them, she told herself. All of them. Judgmental, sizing her up and equating her with her mother's kind with disgust, or picturing her naked and at his mercy. Either way, she was used to it, and she ignored it. There were heavier things on her mind.

The Lord had been speaking to her, but not just in a "manner of speaking". She couldn't place how, but she could hear Him. Really hear Him. It wasn't an audible voice, however. There weren't any signs, no rushing winds, no booming thunder. Not even a small whisper. She couldn't place the source, or the why. Why He would speak to her.

No more cigarettes. No more midnight bottles to erase her memories. No more self-doubt, low self-worth, and no self-denial. She had a job to do, and God wasn't going to allow her to continue in the way she was in to get there.

She wanted to forget everything that she had done. She wanted to forget everything that was done to her. She wanted to forget.

And here God was, telling her that forgetting was the last thing He wanted her to do. Instead, He wanted her to talk about it. Talk about it to anyone and everyone who would listen.

Her scars, her nightmares, her ghosts and demons and skeletons and sins and pains drudged up for all to see, and criticize.

Really, Lord? Really?!?

So she sat, and she cried, and she murmured prayers, pleading that God would release her from this task. Images of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane played through her mind, but she couldn't stop pleading with her Savior to spare her.

I can't bear it. Remembering the pain is reliving the moment, Lord! How can I talk about it when I can't even speak about it?

Be still, child.

He moved.

He couldn't sit there, and he knew it. The Spirit that resided within Him was compelling him forward. He didn't know what he was to do, but he knew he had to move.

A hand fell gently on her shoulder. She started, opening her eyes and filling them with the image of the man who had been staring at her from the other side of the parking lot. He sat down with her, not uttering a word. He just looked into her eyes. Reading, analyzing.... and showing compassion.

Innocently, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and held tight as he began praying for her. Her sobs escalated in volume, but his voice was steady, a calm stream of words directed to their Lord. And she heard Him in his words.

"Moses said to the LORD, "O Lord, I have never been eloquent, neither in the past nor since you have spoken to your servant. I am slow of speech and tongue." The LORD said to him, "Who gave man his mouth? Who makes him deaf or mute? Who gives him sight or makes him blind? Is it not I, the LORD? Now go; I will help you speak and will teach you what to say.*" "

But Lord, she thought, please, please send someone else. I can't do it. I'm not strong enough.

"Then the Lord's anger burned against Moses and he said, "What about your brother, Aaron the Levite? I know he can speak well. He is already on his way to meet you, and his heart will be glad when he sees you. You shall speak to him and put words in his mouth; I will help both of you speak and will teach you what to do. He will speak to the people for you, and it will be as if he were your mouth and as if you were God to him.*" "

She buried her face into the stranger's neck, soaking his collar with her tears. Finishing his prayer, he suddenly realized why God had sent him to that particular Starbucks, in the Texas midday heat, onto the scorching patio.

"My name is Aaron," he said, gently.

"Brianne," she responded, sobbing.

*Exodus 4:13-16