The mother, surrounded by her four children, was about to exit the church.
Oh, maybe next week, I told myself.
But no, no excuses this time. Because there might not be a next week.
My heart was pounding as I reached out to tap the mother's arm. At my touch, she turned, a look of wonder on her face.
"Hi, I've been meaning to introduce myself. I'm Rita."
And that was all I had to do to make a connection. So simple, but still so often a battle within me. I have never regretted it afterwards; the mom I met today was new to the area, is raising four children on her own, and is going to the Academy of Art University. Clearly, the loss would have been mine if I had not met her.
But what hinders me? What keeps my mouth from opening? I'm afraid of looking like a fool, I'm afraid of dead space in the conversation when I can't think of something to say, I'm afraid of being rejected... all excuses based in fear and pride, not in love and acceptance. With this fear, I create a wall between people and myself; sometimes it's a brick wall (I pretend to not see the person, or I feign busyness) or a glass wall (I make eye contact, or smile, but then turn my head). Over the years, the wall has grown so think and so tall, that it has kept me from showing love to people who clearly needed love.
There are those in the Body who are welcoming and gracious. I want to be one of those people. God, who is the source of love and courage, will mold me into the person I am meant to be.
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