Fourth Time's A Charm

I couldn’t pass her by again.  The first time we walked past her, I felt pity and realized it had been months since I’d seen someone begging on the street.  The second time, I felt conviction.  I was with a whole bunch of people attending a Christian conference.  Why were none of us stopping for her?  The third time, I was on a run.  I saw her on the way out to the pier, and I knew that I would have to pass her again to get back to the hotel.   At that moment, I committed to stop for her on the way back.  I just couldn’t pretend she wasn’t there a fourth time.  

I spent the next part of the run worrying.  What was I going to say?  I didn’t have any money with me, and it was likely that she wouldn’t even speak English.  How awkward would that be?  Before I had time to answer any of these questions, I had turned around and was approaching the spot on the boardwalk where she was sitting, strumming her guitar but not really playing any chords.  So I went for it.

“Hi, do you speak English?” I asked.

“Yes, I do,” she answered.  She had an accent, but it wasn’t too strong.

Hoping my sigh of relief wasn’t loud enough to be noticeable, I told her that I didn’t have any money but that I’d love to sit and talk with her for a bit.  She consented and proceeded to tell me her name (Evelina) and a bit of her background.  She told me that she was born in Bulgaria but had been living in Cyprus for a while now.  She expressed that it’s hard to find work in Cyprus during off-season when there aren’t many tourists.  

For the most part, I could understand her, but occasionally she turned her head to the side, which allowed the waves crashing against the boardwalk to drown out the sound of her voice.  Though part of me wanted to ask her to repeat the phrases I missed, she seemed so happy just to talk to someone that I didn’t want to interrupt.  

            Hoping to share some truth with her, I gestured to the book sitting by her guitar.  It was written in an unfamiliar language but appeared to be a Bible, or maybe a Book of Mormon since I had seen a few pairs of Mormons out witnessing that day. 

“What are you reading?” I asked her. 

“The Bible,” she replied.  She explained that it was written in her language and that she hoped God would help her find a job.  Seeing the opportunity, I asked if I could pray for her right then.  Though she was clearly caught off guard, she agreed.  And although she looked around throughout the prayer, clearly feeling a little awkward to be praying on the side of the boardwalk as people walked by, I think she appreciated the gesture.  

Afterwards, we talked some more before I headed back to the hotel for dinner.  On the run back, I questioned myself a lot.  Should I have outlined the Gospel for her?  Or asked more about what she believed?  Or prayed more specifically?

Perhaps I should have, but now I just have to trust that the Lord can use the words that I did manage to say.  Maybe she just needed someone to listen and care.  Maybe someday when she does find work, she’ll look back and remember our prayer on the boardwalk.  Regardless, the next time I see someone on the street with a cup of change, I hope to remember Evelina and stop…the first time.