We stood at a serving table in a little unpretentious church, waiting for our neighbors who have next to nothing to come for a simple meal. She stood there beside me, a little woman quietly doing what she did on Monday evening, arranging napkins, plastic utensils, water, prepackaged cookies, and we waited for the van that had gone to pick up our neighbors. It was late. The time lay loosely on our hands. Somebody said that sister Juana could sing. I asked if she would, and she did. And then we sang together, she in Spanish and I in English, and the ground was holy, and the air was full of Jesus.
The months passed, and one thing I looked forward to on the Monday nights that our church provided meals for the homeless was Sister Juana. She was almost always there, quiet, but with a warm smile and a hug that felt as warm as my own Sweet Mama’s. In the last months, she has been missing some. She went to Puerto Rico to provide Health Care for a family member who was ill, but she came back. She seemed more fragile than ever, but not critically so, and then, yesterday I heard that she had gone to Heaven.
I hadn’t planned on going to Iglesia last evening. It was Carpenter Bridge Community Church’s night to take food, but my friend Shirley had planned to do it all because of an inordinately busy couple of weeks for me. But when I heard yesterday morning that Sister Juana had passed away, I wanted to be with her people. I asked Shirley to please pick me up on her way in to deliver her food, and she graciously stopped and took me along.
I walked into that familiar room, and she was not there. But the people who loved her were. And they hugged me and let me weep, although their loss is way larger than mine, and they talked to me about Heaven and that she was THERE and that she was well and that she was happy. Nothing would ever trouble her again. The loss was acknowledged, and the grief validated, but there was the unmistakable flavor of Eternity with God and my heart was redirected from loss to what really matters.
And I am comforted.
Fare thee well, Sister Juana. I am so much the better for having you as a friend.
Delaware Grammy 