StoriesAboutGod.org

My, she’s homely, I thought, as my husband introduced me to our guest, Anne.  She was a single missionary to India, who looked like she could be Mother Theresa’s younger bigger sister.  My husband had invited Anne to stay with us for two weeks.  He left me alone with her to get acquainted, and within minutes – to my amazement, I was marveling over her beautiful countenance.

I remember nothing that Anne said.  It wasn’t her words that affected me; it was her eyes – full of compassion and acceptance.  I felt her drawing me into a welcoming circle.  Very conscious of my failure to be the kind of person I wanted to be, I felt compelled to let Anne know.  I heard myself blurting out, “I’m not a nice person. I’m irritable.  I get frustrated.  I yell at my children.  I’m so ashamed.” But my agitated stories telling of my struggles only softened her already sympathetic expression. I felt not only loved by her, but liked.

I was in my mid-twenties at the time, a frustrated young mother with a distorted, crippling concept of God.  I assumed He was like my father, impossible-to-please. I wished God was like Anne.

While she was in our home, I was happy and hopeful.  When Anne left to return to her post in India, I felt the hopelessness return and greatly missed the peace Anne’s presence had brought me.

Page 1 of 2 pages for this story  1 2 >