Brown-Eyed Girl

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. – Romans 8:28

The brown-eyed girl, in her mid-twenties or so, stood before me in the line at Starbucks with a pensive look on her face, as she perused the pastries. At first I couldn't tell why I noticed her. Then it clicked. She wasn't really looking at the pastries, or the case they were in. She was staring at a place beyond them all. She was staring at a thought.

Turning slightly, she noticed me looking at her. I gave her a nod and said “Good Morning!” as quickly as I could. You see, writers love to observe people, but we never like getting caught in the act. To my surprise, she was not put off in the least. Instead, she turned to face me and we made small talk for a bit, while the line in front of us ground down. With no one behind us, we had a bit of privacy, which was good, because the brown-eyed girl was not doing so well.

“Ready for the day?” I asked. She shook her head a bit. “Why?” I asked. Without missing a beat, she looked up at me with moist eyes and said, “Because last night I had a miscarriage.”

Now, moments like these have been happening to me my entire life. I have no idea why. For some reason, complete strangers like to confide and confess extremely private things to me. I don’t know why this happens. It just does. And when it does, I don’t freak out anymore. I just go with it.

“I’m sorry,” I said. She nodded weakly, as an earthquake struck her lower lip. “Thank you,” she replied, then added, “Kinda hard to be ready for the day after that, right?” It was sweet and sad; sweet because she tried to make a joke, and sad because she succeeded. I chuckled and replied, “You’ll be okay.” Her eyebrows popped up. “Oh yeah? How? she said. I shrugged. Great purveyor of wisdom that I am, all I managed to come up with was: “You’ll start with a coffee and a pastry, and then you’ll take it one step at a time from there.” That did it. I finally got a little smile out of her. Probably because my advice was so lame.

As the barista called for her order, the spell was broken and the brown-eyed girl looked suddenly embarrassed, but also a tiny bit better.We said our goodbyes. As she left in her business suit and heels, hair pulled back professionally, nails painted, but trimmed neatly, I couldn't help but notice how put together she looked on the outside, while on the inside she was a mess. I felt ashamed that I had not at least tried to witness to her a bit, but I don’t think it mattered.

Our moment had come and passed, you see. That’s all it was. You may think I told you this story to show you how I helped someone, but no. Maybe I did. I hope so. But really, it was she who helped me. Me, and my selfish daily schedule, that has no time for strangers and all of their problems, me and my frequent lack of compassion for others. As I left the Starbucks I had a new perspective. And that, you see, is how God really works for the good in all things. He takes a girl in need of compassion, and puts her in line right next to a man who needs to learn how to give compassion. Then He does all the rest.