An "unnamed woman"

She stopped into the church to see if I would give her a voucher for emergency housing. She had been down at Dunkin' Donuts the day before and someone there had told her to come to the church and see me; that I would help her. I invited her into my office where I planned to tell her privately that there was nothing I could do for her because we don't assist with housing, refer her to the local social service agency, and get back to the agenda I had set for myself for the day.

Instead, I found myself in the presence of one who reminded me of those "unnamed women" in the Bible who found their way to Jesus for help and healing. Those women who were so persistent in their requests to him that he could do nothing but help them. This "unnamed woman" told me her story - at least the parts with which she trusted me. Homeless...staying in a hotel because the few shelters that will take women without dependents were filled to the brim.

She pulled out pieces of paper, worn and tattered, with numbers of the various organizations in the city and county written in every possible space. She asked me for the number of a church on Kirkwood Highway called United Methodist Church. I told her that I couldn't think of a United Methodist Church on Kirkwood Highway. She told me she was sure it existed because her "friend" had told her it did. I called off some names of United Methodist Churches in the area and none seemed to mean anything to her. Finally, exasperated, she said that she just needed the number of a church called United Methodist Church. I explained to her that there are many United Methodist churches, that she was in one. As what I was saying dawned on her, she asked me to give her the name of several United Methodist churches close to Kirkwood Highway because someone had told her that a United Methodist church there would help her.

There was something different about this homeless "unnamed woman;" a dignity that spoke of better days economically; a persistence to find the key to wholeness. When she asked to use a phone to call around to see if there were any organization that could help her, I offered her mine. We worked side by side; me at my computer, she on my phone calling a dozen or more places seeking housing, persistently seeking aid, telling her story time and time again to no avail.

I wondered what was going to happen if she reached the end of her list with no positive results.
I found myself praying that something would turn up for her. Her last call was to one of the United Methodist churches on the list. With discouragement in her voice and the certainty that she would be turned down, she told the secretary her need and asked if the church might be able to help her.

All of a sudden, I saw her sit up a bit straighter in her chair as a look of relief lit up her face. Within moments, she gave the secretary the name of the hotel where she was staying and directed her to speak to the desk clerk so she would know how to make out the check and where to mail the room rent money. This woman walked out of my office feeling differently than she did when she walked in. She had experienced grace.

An experience of grace, such as this, always changes us in some way. What difference did it make in the homeless woman? in me?